The Cat Came Back
by sbgrrl
Summary: John Gage gets suckered into spending Halloween with the DeSoto family. All he has to do is survive a couple shifts. Should be easy...as long as he doesn't think about the moon, which will be full on Halloween of 1974. For the second time in October.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Quick note - and apology for those lovely, lovely folk who've got me on alert. I'm planning an SPN Halloween story and hope to get it done (muse not cooperating with that fandom at the moment), but in the meantime, I'll be cluttering things up with something completely different. LOL, from a currently running show to one that went off the air over 30 years ago. Awesome shift, eh? Don't worry, I gave myself whiplash too. Bet Johnny and Roy could help fix me._

_I've coopted Roy's family from fandom - after reading a billionty really old stories, they seem real. Also, a big thanks to LdyAnne for helping me out with this! You're a peach._

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter One**

The point of whether or not he already had made plans for the night was rendered moot the second little Jennifer DeSoto batted her eyelashes at him. She must get that from, well, both her parents. Or maybe her brother. God knew that Johnny Gage had a hard time saying no to any of the DeSotos if they gave him that little head tilt and those puppy-dog eyes. He doubted Roy – stoic Roy – even knew he could pull that expression. He wasn't sure anyone but him would recognize it for what it was. And it was far too late now for Johnny to mention the quirk to his partner and, besides, acknowledging it existed might only make Roy use it on him more. He was stuck. But to tell the truth, he didn't mind so much.

Logically, Johnny knew he had it in him to say no, to fight the bargaining power of those mighty puppy-dog eyes. Yet every time he opened his mouth with that answer forming on his tongue, every time he was certain he was going to succeed in delivering a negative, it came out as yes anyway. It felt like the DeSotos were the family he never had and always wanted, a tight little nuclear unit of contentment and happiness. Which was just plain stupid; he'd had a perfectly fine upbringing and his parents and sister were great. It was probably that they were hundreds and hundreds of miles away. That had to be it. And it also had nothing to do with him wanting a wife, kids and maybe a dog. He wasn't ready for that kind of life, himself. No, it was all just … some sorta weird thing.

So it was no shock at all, really, that there he was again futilely preparing himself to say no. He glanced at the doorway, where Roy stood leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. Smug. Johnny scowled. As if Roy could say no, either. Sure, in that parent kind of way, but Jenny had her dad wrapped around her finger too. Johnny didn't appreciate the pot calling the kettle black, even non-verbally.

"I dunno, darlin'," he said, surprising even himself at the hesitation which managed to escape.

Huh, maybe he was making progress. A second after he thought it, Johnny felt guilty for being happy about his willingness to put a frown on Jenny's face just to prove his own will power. The little girl herself stared at him as if sizing up his answer and not liking what she was figuring. Smart cookie. She got that from everyone else in the family right along with the special, make-Johnny-do-anything magic.

"First, you can come over and we'll do jack o' lanterns and eat pumkin seeds. Mommy makes them taste real good," Jenny said at last, not sounding very deterred. "And then we'll go to the pumkin patch and wait. It'll be so much fun!"

"What about trick or treating? You don't want to miss all that candy."

"That's true. I like candy." Jenny puckered her lips to one side for a moment, deep in four-and-a-half-year-old thought, and then her face brightened with a big smile. "I suppose you'll have to come with us for that too."

Jenny was more sweetly devious than Johnny had given her credit for. He'd walked right into it. Johnny cast Roy a desperate look – it wasn't that he didn't have anything better to do on Halloween than hang out with his partner's family, it was just that he had better things to do on Halloween than hang out with his partner's family. First and foremost on his to-do list was Sandy Appleton, his very own sexy schoolmarm for the evening. He was hoping to do his own adult version of trick or treating. Johnny opened his mouth to protest when he saw he was going to get no help from his partner.

"I guess I will," was what he ended up saying.

Sandy was going to kill him. It had taken awhile to convince her to go out with him, and the ones he had to chase were always worth it in the end. Somehow, with a little pixie-faced girl smiling at him as if he'd just promised her the world, the sting of that loss didn't hurt quite as much. If he explained it right, maybe Sandy would still give him a shot. That thought lasted a fleeting moment. Never in his life had he been able to explain things right with women.

"Jenny, dinner's ready," Roy said. "Go wash up, quick."

"Okay, Daddy," Jenny said. "You stayin' for dinner, Johnny?"

"Uh," Johnny said.

"Jo's already had Chris set a place for you." Roy uncrossed his arms and scooted to the side to allow his daughter to skip through the doorway. "You should admit defeat before the mashed potatoes start getting cold."

Joanne did something special to her mashed potatoes. Johnny's stomach rumbled at their mere mention. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them in anticipation.

"Well, all right."

The first time Johnny had joined the DeSotos for dinner without ulterior blind date motives attached, it had started out weird and a tad awkward. He didn't remember how or why it even happened – he was a single guy, why would he be interested in hanging out at his married partner's house all night? That was before he got sucked into the DeSoto thrall and, in hindsight, might have actually been the origin of it. By the end of that first dinner, he was hooked. He'd foolishly blamed that on Joanne's pot roast. Hah.

"Boy, I'll tell you what – I'm starved," Johnny said as he stretched his right hand and waggled it for an assist off the floor. "What else she make?"

"It'd be easier to pin down times when you weren't starved." Roy took a step in the room and hefted Johnny to his feet with one strong tug. He still had the traces of a smile on his face, the kind that said he knew it didn't matter a tinker's damn what was on the menu: John would eat it. "Meatloaf. And green beans. Brownies for dessert. I think that's what earned me a slap to the hand when I looked in the pan."

Okay, so he hadn't consciously planned on staying, but even Johnny had to admit to himself it was no coincidence he stuck around to play board games with the kids after he helped Roy clean the gutters. Hey, he figured if he couldn't say no to anything the DeSoto family asked, the least he should get out of it was a nice, home-cooked meal from time to time.

"Hey, Johnny, Mom says if you're eating with us, you hafta wash your hands too," Chris, Roy's son, announced as he left the kitchen and headed toward the bathroom. "Come on."

"Aye aye, Captain," Johnny said, and started down the hall after Chris. "Last one there's a rotten egg."

The seven-year-old started laughing as he ran to get away, but his short legs were no match for Johnny's strides. He grabbed Chris and started tickling. It didn't take long to reduce the boy to giggles. Hey, they all had home field advantage.

"Not fair," Chris said. "That's cheating."

Johnny knew the rules. The kids always had to win, even if that would never happen in real life. He let Chris scamper ahead of him, faking a muscle cramp as he hobbled instead of trotted. From the end of the hall, Roy cleared his throat. Right. Dinner, not playtime. Nobody liked cold mashed potatoes, or being on the bad side of Joanne DeSoto. He gave Roy a half-shrug and crossed the threshold of the bathroom, where he found Jenny tiptoeing on a stepstool with the water on full blast and a scowl on her face.

"It's too slippery," she said, an edge of frustration and a tiny tremble in her voice. "It keeps getting away."

The bar of soap slid around the sink basin like a fish. Johnny could see how it'd be tough for a little kid to make it work and try to stay on top of a stool at the same time. He stepped behind Jenny, took the soap in his right hand and Jenny's left in his. He put the soap between her hands, but kept his wrapped around them, prevented the soap from sliding out. They washed up together, the way he remembered his parents used to do with him. He forgot all about his worries that the DeSotos were whammying him at every opportunity.

"Hurry up, you two," Chris griped. "I'm hungry."

Johnny aimed his and Jenny's hands at Chris and squirted the soap right at him. He rinsed while Chris giggled and scrambled around on the floor. Joanne would kill him for that, but he knew Chris wouldn't rat him out. Besides, it only took the kid a second to pick up the soap and run his hands under the water. Before Johnny and Jenny had their hands dry, Chris stole the towel from them and was dashing for the dining room. He and Jenny followed, at a slower pace.

Dinner at the DeSotos was always kind of a chaotic affair, lots of laughter and talking. When he'd first met him, Johnny would have taken Roy as someone who encouraged discipline and quiet at the table, but it wasn't like that at all. It didn't take him long to figure out why: Roy was gone for long shifts at a time at a job that was dangerous on a good day and downright terrifying on a bad. He knew if it were him, he would want to enjoy every single minute of family time. Hell, it wasn't Johnny's family and he enjoyed every single minute of it.

Tonight, he sat back and watched it all happen – a part of it and yet just outside it at the same time. Chris complaining about having to go to school tomorrow, Jenny laughing because she didn't. Joanne and Roy smiling in all the right places and, without even thinking about it, at each other as if they were on their first date instead of up to their elbows in meatloaf and mashed potatoes with three other people at the table. Okay, sue him, maybe he _did_ want this kind of life just a little bit. He was only human.

"Pass the green beans, please, Johnny," Chris said, the request punctuated by his heels thumping against the legs of his chair.

Judging from how everyone was staring at him, Johnny figured might have gotten a bit too involved in his own headspace. Contrary to popular belief, he did have ample space in his hea … oh, shoot, if he ever slipped and said that out loud he'd never hear the end of it.

"Sure, here ya go," he said. He picked up the beans and handed them over. He noticed Roy's slightly frowny look and gave a short headshake. "Dinner's fantastic as always, Jo."

"Thank you, Johnny."

"Mommy, Johnny said he would come over for Halloween," Jenny said. "Isn't that great?"

"It sure is," Joanne said, with a twinkle in her eye.

Johnny had better stay on top of conversation this time. The last thing he needed was to get suckered into wearing a silly costume. Showing up was enough of a commitment; he wasn't putting on some ridiculous get-up, not even for a little girl's happiness. Frankly, he was beginning to wonder how this had escalated into such a big affair. Roy and Joanne weren't as bad at catering to Jenny's every whim as he was, what with the whole parenthood thing.

"I still think it's stupid we have to sit in a dumb ol' pumpkin patch waiting around for the Great Pumpkin instead of going to the haunted house," Chris grumbled.

Ah, question answered. No way was Jenny old enough for a haunted house, and Johnny doubted Chris was either; the boy just thought he was. A 'dumb ol' pumpkin patch' was a much better option for parents who didn't want to be up all night with crying children. He shivered, remembering how traumatized he'd been when his sister dragged him into a haunted house when he was little. He had taken no comfort in being assured the bowl of "eyeballs" was only peeled grapes. All that had done was make him hate grapes forever. He didn't even want to talk about the nightmares about vampires and werewolves and mummies.

"Chris," Roy said, warning. "We've had this conversation."

"I know, I know."

"If everyone's done, I have brownies for dessert," Joanne said before the happy times could turn bad. "Kids, help me clear the table and get things ready in the kitchen."

"We get ice cream on 'em," Jenny whispered as she walked by Johnny's chair. "Chocolate and vanilla swirled!"

Sugar shock in T-minus fifteen minutes. Johnny glanced at Roy, who rolled his eyes.

"We only break out the ice cream when you're around," Roy said. "You're kind of a big deal around here."

"So it's my fault your kids will be bouncing off the walls in a few minutes. That's nice, Roy, real nice," Johnny said, mock-grouching. Even on a sugar high, Chris and Jenny were great kids. Roy knew that better than he did. "And what's with not helping me out of Halloween? You know I've finally got a date lined up with Sandy, you remember I told you about her. She loves Halloween too."

"Yeah, I know." Roy shrugged and started stacking empty bowls on his plate, dropping the silverware. "Sorry, but if it's any comfort, the kids'll be so tired I'm sure they'll be out by nine. Especially if you're going to be around all afternoon with them."

It actually was comforting. He and Sandy could still make their party – costume, but it was _different_ and so, so much better when a woman wanted to play dress-up – and have a decent time. Johnny refused to give Roy the satisfaction of knowing he was mollified.

"The Great Pumpkin, though, Roy? Really?"

"Jen's been into Charlie Brown lately. It's all she can remember from watching the special last year," Roy said. He shrugged. "Chris's school has actually put something together. Jenny just doesn't know it."

"Well, still, I hope she doesn't get any ideas about Thanksgiving," Johnny said. He laughed. "You'll be stuck eating popcorn and toast and attacked by lawn chairs."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Would have posted this sooner, but RL took a quick detour to you-know-where in a you-know-what this week. Don't you just hate that? _

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Two**

Roy knew before they got within five feet of her that the victim was beyond their help. One tense, tight-lipped glare from Johnny was all he needed to know his partner was on the same page. Still, it was the kind of case where they couldn't not try. As he turned her onto her side and tried to get her to expel some water, he could hear the kids sobbing in the background, the high-pitched horror of the mother. He doubted any of them knew they were making those dreadful sounds. He wondered why there wasn't a cop on site. He wished like hell the engine had been dispatched with them. They could use the Cap's reassuring presence and the help getting those poor kids out of eyeshot. He didn't want to be seeing this himself, let alone having these poor children watch.

"Do you have any idea how long she was under?" Roy asked, a bit stunned to hear how unruffled he sounded.

The mother stopped keening, answered with a shaky voice, "I couldn't have been inside for more than a f-few minutes."

It had been more than a few minutes. Quite a few more than a few. Roy made sure his face reflected only professionalism, but it was more difficult than running into a burning building ever could be. He glanced at Johnny, who was busy looking everywhere but at the woman. Neither of them stopped moving, stopped readying for a fight they were bound to lose.

"Ma'am, maybe you should…" Johnny said, his voice thick and his first words on scene stuck in his throat.

"No, no, no, no," the woman said, somehow piercingly clear even though she now had both of her hands clamped over her mouth. They hadn't even gotten names. There wasn't time. "No, my baby. Oh, Melissa."

"Jesus," Roy heard John mutter and the faint metallic thunk of the biophone being opened.

Roy barely kept the shake out of his hands as he reached for the defibrillator. He performed his job almost mindlessly, hooking her up to machines. He wasn't distracted. He was trying to reach that place within himself that would keep him in the present but not allow him to get sucked into it. He didn't think it was going to be possible. The child's lips were purple. Her lungs were filled with water no amount of pounding would get out adequately.

There was buzzing in his ears. Through it, he heard Johnny make contact with Rampart, various words leaking through. Cyanosis. Zero breath sounds. No pulse. Lead two. No sinus rhythm. And somewhere in there, he heard Johnny pleading without saying the words to have Rampart give them something, anything to try. The tension radiated off John, all tight control where Roy seemed unable to still his own frantic motions.

He wished someone would get those other kids out of there.

"I got this, Roy," Johnny said. "Ambulance."

Only when prompted did Roy hear the siren in the distance. There were no easy jobs here. He knew what Johnny was doing, and why. For one thing, Roy was having a hell of a time not seeing Jenny in this little girl and, for another, his partner knew himself well enough to know he would lose it if he had to deal with the mom. Johnny was the hotheaded, impetuous one; Roy was the calm one. Usually. Today he felt himself coming apart at the seams, though on the outside no one would know it. Sometimes he hated seeming like the calm one. He nodded. Standard protocol dictated they should both stay with the victim. There was nothing standard about this situation.

"Ma'am," he said as he stood, "do you have someone you can call?"

The woman made a strangled noise in her throat, probably the most Roy was going to get out of her for the present time. He squatted next to the sobbing children, three girls of about six. All three of them had their eyes riveted on what Johnny was doing. Roy knew without looking. The grave tone of Early's tinny voice from Rampart and the whine of the defibrillator were both sounds he knew well. It wasn't for the baby. With the mother right there, they had to keep going for her sake and sanity, but also for the possibility they were all wrong, that they could pull off a miracle. But he knew, even if they could get the child's heart going and lungs working, there'd have to be massive damage. He changed position in an attempt to block the children from seeing. The girl in the middle started sobbing harder. Sister, Roy thought. She had the same nose as the baby. A crowd had formed. He and Johnny had only been there a few minutes. It felt like forever.

The siren, which had grown very loud, cut off, but he still heard sirens further away. Roy turned. He spotted a police vehicle, not an ambulance, pulling up at the curb. He didn't know how either he or Johnny hadn't recognized the siren as police. But, thank goodness anyway. He stood and greeted the officer with a head bob – he didn't know the man, and he was glad for that as well.

The officer took one look at the little girl on the ground and hissed something under his breath. It wasn't difficult to guess what. He quickly took over, guided the woman and the children a few steps back and advised the crowd to make room.

"Roy," Johnny said sharply.

Roy returned to Johnny's side, stunned that an erratic heartbeat showed on the monitor. He took out one of the small esophageal airway kits, despite the fact several defibrillation attempts had yielded less than optimal results. Early ordered the tube a second later. Roy ripped open the package, his movements jerky. Johnny was right there with the ambu bag once he slid it in.

"Where's the ambulance?"

Johnny almost looked and sounded like he regretted getting the baby's heart beating again. It was the miracle they didn't think they were going to get, but Roy also knew it was fleeting. He understood why Johnny wasn't happy. This was not a real miracle because there was no way it could last. He watched Johnny squeeze the ambu bag at regular intervals, the tiny, bluish body moving only slightly with the forced air.

After seemingly interminable minutes, the ambulance finally pulled up. Orders were relayed – he and Johnny talking over each other at times. The attendants didn't notice or didn't care; they didn't like child down calls either. They always did their jobs efficiently, drove like pros, but Roy would swear they were extra efficient when it came to children. This poor angel was no exception. Roy tried not to be a small bit thankful Johnny was the one bagging the baby, as that meant his partner would go with her to Rampart. Even knowing the prognosis already, it was going to be rough. Rougher now that they'd established a pulse. They got the baby on the gurney.

"I want to go with her," the mother called, the edge of hysteria sounding more like flat out fear now. "Please, please."

"I'm sorry," Johnny said. "We can't allow that."

No parent should have to see what this woman had already seen. An ambulance ride, even if allowable, would only be that much worse. Too up close, too personal. It didn't seem right _anyone_ had to witness the loss of a life barely even lived. Roy turned his attention back to the scene, accidentally locked eyes with the mother. She was pale, shocky. Clearly in distress. But her eyes … she knew.

"We're taking her to Rampart General," Roy said.

"I'll drive you, Mrs. Flinn," the officer said. "First we need to get someone to watch these kids."

"Patsy, dear, I can keep an eye on them," a woman said, pushing to the front of the crowd.

Roy let that conversation fade to the periphery. That wasn't his business. He quickly grabbed the drug box and biophone, sliding them in next to the gurney. He caught Johnny's eye and frowned in response to his partner's headshake, before he shut the door and gave it a couple thumps out of habit. He knew what kind of effect this was going to have on Johnny, and it made him feel like awful for not being able to quell the thankfulness at not being in that ambulance. He gathered the littered remains of the rescue as fast as he could. The crowd was already starting to dissipate, the primary focus of the drama gone, and the secondary under police guidance. He couldn't help but think people were vultures when it came to all things horrible, lurking and watching.

"Is that little girl going to make it?" a man called to Roy.

"The doctors will do their best," Roy said, knowing not responding would be as good as saying no. He wouldn't do that to the little girl still standing there within earshot and needing her mother, who only had her mind on the dead baby. "I'm sure they'll do their best."

"Just like you did," another voice, female this time, said.

He couldn't tell if that was meant as supportive or accusatory, possibly a little of both. Roy's only response was to toss the garbage into the squad's cab and then follow it in. Angrily, he wondered where this crowd had been when that baby was drowning, why they only came out when there were flashing red lights. He started up the vehicle and began the journey to the hospital. When he was a block away from the scene, he glanced in the rearview mirror at the police cruiser. He hoped like hell he and Johnny were out of there by the time Mrs. Flinn and possibly her other daughter arrived.

Arriving himself at the hospital, Roy found Johnny at the base station. His partner's head was down as he waited. Either it was all over, or Johnny hadn't been able to stick it out in the treatment room. And either scenario seemed equally likely. Before he could greet Johnny and find out which it was, the door of treatment room three opened and Dixie McCall stepped out. Closely behind her, Doctor Joe Early. Both looked, in Roy's estimation, like they'd just lost a patient. His and John's.

"John. Roy," Early said. "Has the mother arrived?"

"There was a slight delay. She had a whole bunch of kids at her house," Roy said. "Her other daughter."

"Dix, I'll need to speak with her as soon as she arrives."

"Of course."

"Shit," Johnny announced, as he pulled the bin of supplies he'd been restocking off the counter and stalked away.

All three left at the base station watched him go, silent.

"He going to be all right?" Dixie asked.

"I hope so. Eventually," Roy said, and followed his partner.

Eventually would come sooner if the next twenty runs they had were all ridiculous, silly things that could be laughed at as fodder for dinner-time stories. With Halloween and a full moon both coming up, Roy wouldn't bank on it. He wasn't a superstitious person by nature, but even he couldn't deny things got really hectic with the full moon, and Halloween, well, with each passing year it got busier the days prior and downright wild on the actual night.

He'd wished before that the whole station had been called out on this run. He took that back now. He wouldn't wish this feeling on his worst enemy. As he shuffled out the emergency doors, Mrs. Flinn and the officer walked in. Something about Roy – his expression, the slump to his shoulders, his uniform, whatever – made Mrs. Flinn stagger slightly. She had to be held up by the officer's hands at her elbow and back. Roy wanted to say something, make apology or condolence, but he couldn't get anything past his tight throat. If he were in her shoes, he doubted he'd want to hear it. Instead, he just nodded once at the officer and made for the squad at a faster gait.

Johnny leaned for the radio as soon as Roy slid behind the wheel, made them available. After that, the cab was filled with silence. Sometimes it helped to talk it out, and sometimes they needed a few hours to process and attempt to make sense of a senseless death on their own. For him, he knew the first thing he would do when they got back to the station was call home. He was lucky; he had a house full of life that would never fail to raise his spirits at times like this. He didn't have to talk to his own kids, he just had to hear them laughing or playing or even fighting in the background as Joanne's voice comforted him.

Roy wondered if this might be one of those times Johnny might want to talk to Jo as well. Johnny didn't do that often, and usually only did when he wanted to share good things. The first time Johnny talked to _his_ wife on the phone, he admitted to being puzzled and somewhat territorial. He got over it. Johnny was as family to the whole DeSoto family as if he were blood related. Roy had learned long ago not to question that. It didn't make sense if he thought too much about it, yet made perfect sense at the same time. Johnny didn't have anyone else close by to turn to, but it was more than that.

"I don't get it, Roy," Johnny said, subdued and soft. But he slapped the dash hard. "I don't know why any parent would leave a baby in the care of a six-year-old, even for ten minutes."

As a parent himself, he knew it was impossible to be everywhere at once. He couldn't imagine, though, letting his kids play outside at this hour of the afternoon unwatched if one of them was barely walking. He knew in the weeks to come, he'd probably be extra vigilant and his kids would hate it.

"I don't either," Roy said.

"That little girl, she's going to remember for the rest of her life that her baby sister died because she was having fun with her friends."

"Yeah, I know."

Things got quiet again and stayed that way for the remainder of the ride. Roy couldn't get the image of Melissa Flinn's blue face out of his head. He figured Johnny was going to be haunted by her as well. Having spent more time with her, it would probably be worse for Johnny. Another stab of guilt poked Roy in the gut. He backed the squad into the station bay slowly. Both of them stayed in the vehicle for a few seconds, just sitting. He was about to apologize or say something, anything, to Johnny about sticking him with the ambulance ride when his partner opened his door and slid out.

He heard someone call out a hello and no response from Johnny. When he got out, Roy saw Chet and Marco staring toward the dorm. Johnny had apparently headed straight there. They turned as one to look at him as he made a beeline for the phone.

"What's up with Gage, man?" Chet said. "He looked like a real grouch."

"We just lost a little girl, a baby. She drowned in a washtub filled with apples for bobbing," Roy said. It hurt to even say it. "That's what's up with Gage."

Roy left Chet and Marco standing there with stricken looks on their faces to go call his wife.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I want to thank you all for the support - really, it buoys my spirits!_

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Three**

"_No one would think less of either of you if you chose to take a vacation day to cover your next shift. Just don't forget it's an option."_

Cap's words replayed in his mind, had actually been on an hourly loop since they'd been said. No one wanted to openly talk about the stresses of a firefighter's job, but everyone knew how easy it was to be overwhelmed when bad things happened. For the first time in a long time, Johnny found himself wanting to take advantage of that day off. He did not want to go to a job he loved.

Sleep didn't come easy yet, and he was exhausted. Johnny turned and squinted at his bedside alarm clock. Five-thirty. There was almost two full hours of time to try not to think, until he had to be on the road for the station. As much as he didn't want to go to work, he didn't think it would be much better hanging around here. No, no. It would be better to be _doing_ something.

Well, he hoped he'd be doing something. After the run with the baby last shift, the night had been unusually and unfortunately quiet. He and Roy had both ended up watching static on the television in the break room and smoking an occasional cigarette at three o'clock in the morning after a night of too much thinking, sleep eluding them and conversation unnecessary. In an odd way, just having Roy there did help. Maybe because Roy got what he was feeling. But then the shift ended. Roy had gone home and Johnny had gone home and the walls had started closing in on him.

He was pretty sure he hadn't gotten more than half a day of mental peace during his forty-eight hours off, despite trying to keep busy. That half a day was thanks in no small part to Roy's kids; Roy, or maybe Joanne through him, had insisted he come over to carve pumpkins. The original schedule was rearranged, but he suspected he wasn't going to get out of his Halloween day adventures altogether. He flipped onto his back and smiled at the ceiling, remembering Chris chasing Jenny around with the stringy guts of the pumpkin squishing between his fingers. Johnny just had to focus on the good things like that and his date with Sandy, not on dead bab … other things. He draped his right arm across his eyes and let himself drift.

And the next thing he knew the alarm was blaring a steady beat. He groaned and slapped a hand to turn it off. An hour and a half of solid, nightmare-free sleep was better than none at all. Johnny rolled out of bed and got himself ready. He still wasn't thrilled about going in, but no one ever said life was going be filled only with sunshine. His father would remind him now was a fantastic opportunity to suck it up. So, he sucked. It would get better sooner rather than later if he wanted it enough. Right? Right.

Self pep-talk done, he grabbed his breakfast from the toaster – waffles, burned – and clamped them between his teeth as he fumbled for his keys and ran out the door. He would never understand how he gave himself plenty of time and always ended up off schedule anyway. He ate the waffles in four bites, because he'd seen too many accidents caused by people who thought they could do more things while driving than they could. Chet Kelly would never let him live it down if he got in a fender-bender because he was eating a waffle.

Traffic was a breeze, unusual for a weekday. Midweek lull, he guessed, and it was to his benefit. He pulled into Station 51's lot with almost fifteen minutes on the clock. That left him enough time to get changed, but not so much that he'd have time for too much thinking about what horrible thing might be coming down the pike. Some illogical part of his brain thought maybe the quiet of their last shift's night was sort of the calm before a storm.

When it wasn't ghosts of drowned babies that kept him from sleep on his days off, it was that idea. It wasn't like they'd never experienced a day of weird runs, and a full moon on Halloween was bound to wreak havoc not only on that day but on the days before and after the holiday as well. The image of Melissa Flinn sprang to mind, unwelcome and unrelenting. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel a minute, roused by a tap on the window. He looked up and opened the door.

"Morning, Gage," Chet Kelly said. "How were your days off?"

Chet was already in uniform, which meant he must have been watching for Johnny to pull up. Any other time, Johnny would expect some sort of prank looming, but for once there wasn't a hint of teasing or antagonism in Chet's voice.

"They were all right. Yours?"

Chet snorted and shook his head, but didn't say anything. Johnny had seen his reflection in the mirror at home. He knew he looked slightly tired and rough around the edges. He gave Chet credit for not calling him on it. Sometimes, when no one was around to notice, the guy was actually a good friend. Or, as Chet would slough off to avoid acknowledging he cared, the Phantom didn't like to kick his pigeon when he was down.

The kitchen was filled with the C-shift crew ready to head out and Mike Stoker, who was making a fresh pot of coffee. Johnny nodded a good morning and headed right for the lockers. He wanted to hurry so he could grab a cup of coffee before the rest of the crew got to it. He didn't know what Stoker did that was any different to everyone else, but his coffee tasted the best and gave him the most energy. He needed the boost if he wanted to avoid commentary on his tired appearance.

The locker room was empty. Johnny had seen Cap's car and Marco's, so they must be around somewhere. He wondered if Roy had decided to take that day off after all. It wasn't like his partner to push it this late coming in. He frowned. He didn't much like the thought of Roy feeling low enough to take a vacation day. Roy had seemed okay on Monday. He knew Roy had a hard time sifting out thoughts of his own children on runs involving kids, though, especially when those runs turned out like Melissa Flinn. Thank goodness that sort of thing didn't happen very often, or it would be a miracle either of them could get out of bed every morning.

Also, Johnny had to admit, if today turned out to be hectic he didn't want to face it without Roy at his back. He'd trust many of his firemen brothers with his life, but none of them quite in the way he trusted Roy. The nearly instant rapport he'd had with his partner spoke a lot to why the DeSotos as a whole had become so important to him. He didn't think much about it, but sometimes he had to admit he was a pretty lucky guy.

He was buttoning his last uniform button when Roy came tearing into the locker room. Johnny glanced at his watch. Five minutes. He couldn't remember the last ti … wait, yes, he could. He started grinning.

"Have a _hard_ time getting out of bed this morning?"

"Something like that."

It sounded casual, but to an astute observer such as Johnny, the blotchy red creeping up on Roy's neck told a different story. Well, he supposed extra time in bed with a woman was one way to cure the bad rescue blues. He waggled his eyebrows at Roy.

"Oh, stuff it," Roy grumbled. "I'm allowed."

"Me? I didn't say anything." Johnny splayed a hand on his chest and pulled a mock-innocent face. He slapped Roy on the shoulder before heading for the door. "Better hurry, though. I'd hate to have to explain to Cap and the guys why you're late."

Johnny left the room with a slight bounce in his step. Yeah, coming to work had been the right decision. He felt better already. His grin got wider when Roy slid into place at roll call at the last possible second, and he completely ignored the elbow to his ribs telling him to tone it down. If anything, Roy's embarrassment made him want to laugh. That wasn't very nice, but it was usually _his_ exploits with women that caused _him_ to be late. It wasn't the old married guy's role. Johnny kept the laughter in check, barely.

After Cap was satisfied his entire crew was present and accounted for, they were released to complete their assigned duties. As the rest of the A-shift went their ways, Johnny realized he hadn't gotten that cup of coffee he wanted. He headed for the kitchen. He had all day to sweep and mop the bay, but he had a limited amount of time for fresh caffeine ala Mike Stoker. He didn't know how, but Chet had beaten him and already had a steaming mug in his hand, halfway to his lips.

"Aw, tell me that's not the last cup, Kelly," Johnny said.

Chet lowered the cup and looked at Johnny, then at the pot on the stove. He shrugged and returned his attention to Johnny. He extended the coffee. "It is. But you know what, Gage?" he said, "You look like you need it more than I do."

Despite this morning's unexpected amnesty from Chet, Johnny took the offered cup with suspicion. He smelled it, only detected the aroma of the coffee bean. Chet, in the meantime, started preparing another pot; he didn't look like he was anxiously awaiting a prank. Johnny sat at the table and pulled the morning paper toward him. He took a swig of the coffee … and immediately coughed and spluttered. Behind him, Chet started laughing.

As far as pranks went, salted coffee wasn't a very offensive one. For some reason, though, it made Johnny angry. Very angry. He jerked to his feet, tossed the coffee down the drain and slammed the mug on the counter.

"What'd you go and do that for, Kelly?" he asked through clenched teeth. He didn't notice Chet had stopped laughing, or that they were no longer the only two in the room. "All I wanted was a decent cup of coffee and you had to go ruin it."

"Hey, man," Chet said, hands up and on the defensive. His expression wasn't smug, only contrite. "Calm down, it was just a joke."

That only made Johnny madder. Some tiny part of himself knew he was reacting unreasonably, but that part had no control over what the rest of him was doing.

"Johnny," someone said, then with more force, "John."

There was pressure on his right bicep, a strong tug on his left shoulder. With that contact, everything snapped back into perspective and Johnny realized he was so close to Chet the guy was leaning away, and that most of his own muscles were tight with adrenaline. Whoa. His shoulders sagged and he didn't resist when he was pulled back a few steps. The hand on his arm released, but the one clasping his shoulder remained in place. He knew it was Roy. He looked anyway, into his partner's frowning face.

"Kelly, Lopez, Stoker, why don't you fellas go start your duties for the day, huh? Roy, you too," Cap said. "John, I'd like to see you in my office."

Johnny's mind raced. He was okay. He didn't know why he'd exploded like that. Johnny just didn't know why the salt in his coffee upset him. Nothing Chet pulled on him ever bothered him, not really. He was _sure_ he was coping just fine. Maybe not as well as Roy, but this wasn't his first bad run. He wasn't some boot. He sneaked a glance back at his partner as he followed Captain Stanley to his office. Roy appeared worried, but not unruffled or anything. Actually, he looked tired and not completely in a physical way. Johnny hadn't noticed that before. He should have.

"I don't think I have to explain why I called you in here," Cap said as he closed his door. "Take a seat."

He'd rather stand, but he sat as requested. Cap's expression was concerned, but firm.

"You're here, so I know you think you're ready for this shift, but…" Cap raised a hand to stave off anticipated protests. "John, after what happened out there, be honest with me, pal, are you okay?"

Johnny couldn't afford to hesitate. Until a few minutes ago, he'd thought he was fine. Now, though, he could see the lows, highs and power surges of anger he was experiencing. These things were natural. They were to be expected. Everyone knew that. He could do the _job_.

"Cap, you know how it is," Johnny said. "Chet pushes my buttons on a good day. He caught me in a bad moment."

"It's more than that, and you know it. Not five minutes before you nearly took Kelly's head off, you were almost giddy about something." Cap chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second. "And Kelly wasn't the only one to notice when you pulled in. I saw you in your car. Your moods are all over the place and you look tired."

"I'm tired, but not that tired. I just need to work. The first day back after something like that is always the hardest. Cap, if I can make it through this shift, I'll be fine."

A strange expression passed over Captain Stanley's face. Alarm, maybe. It didn't last long.

"Okay," Cap said. "I trust your judgment and I trust that you'll let me know if you change your mind."

A jolt of fear ran through Johnny. He didn't know why, but that foreboding feeling was back in full force. What he couldn't tell was if it was a real sensation or part of this phase of getting over not being able to save a baby. There were too many things going on in his head. He needed to filter most of it out. He needed a cup of coffee and to focus on mopping the floor and polishing the squad and all the little things.

"I will," Johnny managed to say.

"Send Roy in, will you? And take it easy today. Try and grab some sleep during the down times if you can. Looking at you, you're making _me_ tired."

Johnny smiled, tried to show he was doing his best. He was kind of relieved that Cap wanted to see Roy as well, feeling like he hadn't been singled out or anything. What he didn't like was that he hadn't had a chance to check with his partner to see if he was all right himself. That weary look he'd caught earlier – the comfort Roy had in his wife and family didn't mean he wasn't still affected. After Cap got done talking with Roy, they'd check in with each other. And as long as they kept each other balanced, they'd be fine. Both of them. Sometimes it was that simple.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I promise, things will happen in this story!_

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Four**

"Listen, I don't need any smart remarks from you guys," the man said. The mid-forties, balding white guy with dark glasses sitting askew on his nose was odds-on favorite as the subject of the unknown rescue at 21716 Dolores Street. "It's bad enough as it is."

Roy was exhausted. He and Johnny had been going nearly all day, dealing with non-emergency emergencies like this one. In a way, he didn't mind. It kept both of them occupied, and he definitely hadn't seen any signs Johnny wasn't performing up to his usual level. Cap had asked him to watch out for any indication Johnny wasn't as okay as he claimed. Roy would have kept an eye on his partner even without that directive, just like he was sure Johnny was doing for him. It wasn't a lack of trust from either of them, it was simply a variation of watching each other's back. After Johnny had done his daily duties, he'd managed a quick nap and a cup of coffee. His moods following the outburst this morning were normal. Well, subdued, but not as erratic as they had been.

Now, standing on this porch, looking at this unfortunate fellow, Roy fought the urge to laugh. He'd have had to fight it on a good day anyway, but watching Johnny's miniature meltdown earlier made him wary of his own reactions. Maybe Johnny was all right now, but he wasn't sure he was himself. The positive reinforcement from two days with his family and puttering around the house didn't mean the quiet times didn't sneak up on him, complete with images he'd have rather never seen in the first place. There was no magic cure for that kind of thing. He didn't want to consider what the family must be going through. It had to be a thousand times worse for them.

"Well, sir," Johnny said with a slow smile, "you appear to be a little tied up."

And Roy had to take a step back, turn away so the guy wouldn't see him grinning. If he wasn't careful, he was going to lose it. He had that strange feeling of being giddy and heartsick at the same time. He had to focus, focus on this poor fool and how plain ridiculous his situation was. The laughter bubbled into Roy's chest. He covered it with a cough.

"Hey," the guy said, indignant. "What did I say about smart remarks?"

"Sorry." Johnny sounded apologetic. He also sounded about a hair's breadth away from laughing himself. "Are you hurt anywhere, Mr…?"

"Snyder. Kenneth Snyder." Mr. Snyder tried to wiggle, only succeeded in sliding down a fraction of an inch. His head thunked against the last step. "No, I don't think I've got anything but a few bruises. My pride is hurt the most. I just need a little help getting out of this."

_This_ was a mass of grayish thread, wound cocoon-like around Mr. Snyder's arms, torso and halfway down his thighs. He lay, head to the ground, on the front steps of a small Craftsman bungalow. Roy glanced at the porch, noting an overabundance of Halloween decorations and a rickety chair turned on its side. It didn't take much to work out what had happened. How was a different story. Sometimes, it was better not to ask how. Roy had a feeling if he heard the full chain of events, he really would burst out laughing.

"Fellows," Cap said, joining them at the steps. "What've we … oh."

"What, there's more of you?" Snyder shifted around, went down another fraction of an inch. His head twisted as he tried to see. He groaned when he saw the engine and Lopez and Kelly trudging up the walk, both of them grinning. "You brought a whole engine? That jerk Bailey next door has got to be loving this. He's the one who probably called you, you know. I'd have been fine until my wife got back from the store and found me. She'd have gotten me out. But that meddling son of a gun had to stick his nose in my business. Typical."

"Try to relax, Mr. Snyder," Roy said, crouching. He put a hand on the guy's shoulder. It didn't seem like it should be possible, but the thread wound around Mr. Snyder looked like it was binding tighter with every movement. "I think you might be getting even more twisted up."

"Relax, he says," Snyder muttered. "I'll relax when you cut me free, and you better do it fast before Bailey comes over here with his damn Polaroid camera. He'll have fodder against me for months. Months. Oh, Lord, why couldn't Betty have gone for the Halloween candy earlier? She should have been back by now. I'll bet the shelves were empty and she had to..."

While Snyder ranted, Roy and Johnny pulled out their scissors and cut at the sticky fibers wrapped around the man. Roy started at the top, Johnny at the bottom and they worked toward each other. Roy didn't know what the material was, but it felt almost real. It clung to his fingers, and the sensation lingered even when he wiped it off. No shock Snyder had gotten tangled so easily in his own web. With the right tools, though, it didn't take long to get him loose.

"And then old man Bailey's lousy mutt _somehow_ gets out of the house and onto my property. Next thing I know I'm ass over teakettle, trussed up and helpless with a dog licking my face," Snyder said. He hadn't stopped talking even though most of his audience wasn't paying attention to his tale. His hands flew every which way. It took him a couple blinks to realize he had regained full motion. "Hey, I'm free. Hey, thanks."

Johnny helped Mr. Snyder to his feet, conducting a visual assessment at the same time. He gave a brief headshake to Roy and Cap. There was no indication of immediate injury or limitation in Snyder's movements.

"If you two have got this…?" Cap said. He was smiling himself, but tossed Kelly and Lopez a warning look when one of them – Kelly, most likely – tittered.

"Sure, Cap, I think we can handle it from here. You all can head back. I think he's fine, but we'll check Mr. Snyder out," Roy said. "We might have to make a run to Rampart for supplies."

"Well, make it snappy if you do. Gage is on dinner duty, remember?" Cap said. "With all the running around we've been doing today, I'd say it's a safe bet we're all hungry."

Roy hadn't remembered. He was sure Johnny hadn't, either. He nodded anyway, not wanting their captain to think them negligent in their duties, no matter how small. It wouldn't take much to convince Johnny to stop somewhere to buy dinner instead of cooking. The way their day was going, there wasn't time to prepare anything edible. Edible food from Johnny was already a challenge. Roy knew the rest of the guys wouldn't mind a deli run, all things considered. A man couldn't live on hot dogs.

"I'm fine," Mr. Snyder was telling Johnny. "I didn't bump my head or anything."

Johnny had made their victim sit and was standing behind him, checking him despite the assurances from the victim himself. At Snyder's objections, he rolled his eyes at Roy and gave him a smile. If it were any other day, Johnny would have long ago been complaining about the weirdness of their runs throughout the day. This one was actually pretty mild by comparison to some.

Roy figured Johnny was thinking along his same lines – the more amusing runs they got, the more quickly they could move on. He had to admit, it was working a little. He wasn't a hundred percent, but the fact that so far none of their runs had produced more than a broken arm was encouraging. For the first time all day, Roy saw light at the end of the tunnel. It was never going to be truly easy, coping with losing a patient, but a return of balance would happen sooner the more often he, they, had to deal with it. Part of him knew that without being able to adapt more and more quickly, he wouldn't last as a paramedic. Already, the program had lost a few guys who'd been in the first couple classes.

"Okay, well, if you do start feeling like you might not be all right, you should go see your family doctor," Johnny said.

"I will, I will." Snyder stared at the house next door with narrowed eyes, like his mind was on revenge. "Thank you boys for being so great about this."

"You're welcome, sir," Roy said. "We're just doing our jobs."

"I guess I'd better get back to it. The kids love our house, you know. I go all out for them," Snyder said, already turning his attention back to decorating the already over-decorated porch. "Best house on the block. Bailey can eat his heart out."

"Just be careful, sir," Johnny called as he and Roy headed for the squad. He rubbed his hands on his thighs. "Man, Roy, I can still feel that stuff. I've never seen anything like it. Wonder what it's made of."

"I dunno," Roy said.

They didn't really need to restock their supplies, Roy noted. He should have remembered before that with their run in with the broken arm, they'd grabbed what few things they'd used. He guessed his head wasn't fully in the game, at least when it came to the more mundane part of their job. As long as it didn't encroach on the actual, important facets, he wasn't too worried at being absentminded. He knew himself.

"Cap said it's your turn for dinner," he said, after Johnny had made them available. "Did you have something in mind?"

"Ah, shoot, no. I forgot."

"We'll stop and pick something up."

"Yeah. I didn't even realize, it _is_ almost dinnertime. Boy, it's been busy today," Johnny said. He picked at the dash for a second, like there was fuzz or something to brush off. "It's good, I suppose."

There was something hesitant in Johnny's voice. Roy glanced at his partner, not alarmed, but cautious. He knew Johnny almost better than he knew himself. Some things, though, remained a mystery. He couldn't honestly say he knew what it would take to make Johnny quit. Nothing. Anything.

"Yeah, it's good," Roy said. "Beats sitting around."

Roy's own involvement in setting up the paramedic program was a compelling motivation for him to stay. As a rescue man first, Roy had known what he was signing up for. And he loved the job, lumps and all. He believed in it. It wasn't always easy to remember when it got particularly grim. Having Jo and the kids as a ready-made support system helped. And, he had to admit, having Johnny for a partner helped. For all his insanity, Johnny somehow managed to keep Roy sane. It wasn't just because Roy was reminded how normal he was whenever Johnny pulled his antics. He'd never be able to explain how someone so polar opposite to him could be so vital.

"Hey, Roy?" Johnny asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think it'll ever get easier?" Johnny shifted so he was turned toward Roy, his right shoulder pressed against the side window. "Losing a patient like the one the other day, I mean."

Talking about it was better than not ever mentioning it, but Roy was honestly surprised Johnny wanted to. It was couched in vague terms, though he had no doubt Melissa Flinn was the patient Johnny meant. There was nothing random about the query. They hadn't lost anyone else recently, or many at all. Roy thought about it and couldn't come up with a good enough answer.

"I don't think it's supposed to get easier," he said. He paused. "We might get more used to it, expect it more, but it'll never be any easier all the same. If it did, I'm not sure if we'd be human anymore. We can't let the losses get the better of us. We have to remember all the people we _can_ save."

Johnny didn't say anything. When Roy took his eyes off the road for a second, he saw his partner was twisted in the seat, body facing in but head turned and looking out the window.

"Like Mr. Snyder," Johnny said, looking back at him with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, maybe not exactly like him," Roy said dryly. Entertainment value aside, runs like that weren't very inspiring. "I was thinking more like that boy who broke his arm earlier."

"Yeah. You're right." Johnny smiled and genuinely looked like he meant it. "Statistically, the good outweighs the bad."

It wouldn't seem like much to anyone else, but Roy felt like he and Johnny had just overcome a major hurdle. At any rate, the knot in his belly he'd had for days eased slightly. And it reminded him that he was hungry. There was a market with a decent deli near the station. Roy headed there without asking Johnny what he thought. He already knew what Johnny thought: he didn't care, as long as it was edible. The guy had the metabolism of a jackrabbit.

To expedite matters, Johnny went into the market alone. If a hurdle had been scaled as Roy thought, he also thought Johnny would soon be talking his ear off again. Sometimes that drove him nuts, but then at times like this he thought Johnny's effervescent, often pointless chatter was music to his ears. Better a wildly gesticulating Johnny Gage spouting nonsense than a silent, brooding Johnny Gage. He kept an eye on the door, fiddling with the key in the ignition when he saw his partner emerge through the glass doors, arms laden with bags.

Roy didn't get a chance to start the squad. In the loading zone just off the front entrance of the store, a car began slowly backing up. He saw it coming before the old lady did, a sky blue Cadillac's bumper clipping her on the hip as she stepped from the lot onto the sidewalk. He winced, knowing what kind of damage that could do to someone at her age, and called it in. He requested an ambulance and noted Johnny had witnessed the accident as well. By the time Roy had gotten the equipment out and joined the scene, the old man who'd been at the wheel stood hunched at the rear of his vehicle and the old woman was flashing her stockings, her skirt off kilter. Johnny had set their dinner down and now knelt by the woman.

"Ma'am, just take it easy," Johnny said. He struggled with the woman, who was attempting to sit. "My partner and I are paramedics with the LA County Fire Department. Let us take a quick look at you. You could be injured."

"I'm so sorry, Phyllis," the old man muttered, running a shaky hand through his thinning white hair. "I thought I had my foot on the brake."

The woman ignored Roy and Johnny both, shooting a confused yet scorching look at the old gentleman. "_Darling_," she said, "I can't believe you just tried to kill me."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Because I don't think I'll have the chance to post again until the weekend, another quick chapter. You're welcome. And ... I'm sorry. Hee hee. _

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Five**

The engine had been called out forty-five minutes ago, while he and Roy were on yet another run – college kid lost his two front teeth answering a really stupid dare. They hadn't been asked to join the rest of the crew when they'd made themselves available again, and so were left to their own devices for the moment. Johnny was tired, both from the fitful sleep on his days off and the busy day they'd had. Dinner sat in his stomach like a lump and had made him sleepy enough he was glad the squad seemed to finally be hitting a lull. He had lain down to rest, not quite ready to turn in for the night despite the late hour, while Roy tinkered around with the squad. Something about a loose side mirror. The mirrors were fine; Roy was still working through his own thoughts, and Johnny left him to them.

No one could have been more surprised than Johnny himself when sleep would not come. It wasn't because of Melissa Flinn. It wasn't because of anything, at least not that he could pinpoint. His eyes did not want to stay shut, that was all. He didn't understand how he could be dead on his feet, but the second he actually tried to sleep he had energy to spare. He stared at the ceiling for another minute, listened to a clank coming from Roy's puttering out there, then gave it up entirely. It was a good thing he hadn't changed out of his blues. He sat and slid his feet back into his shoes.

"Need a hand?" Johnny asked, entering the bay.

"Nope, just finished," Roy said, stowing a wrench. "Was about to turn in. It's a bit late for this kind of work anyway."

Johnny'd figured out early on in the shift that Cap hadn't called Roy into his office to make sure he was okay, but rather to instruct his partner to keep an eye on him. It rankled a bit at first, until he realized he was watching Roy just as closely and without any instruction to do so. It was part of the deal, an unspoken rule of thumb that came along with keeping each other in sync. He really did feel much better about things, including giving up on the idea something weird-in-a-bad-way would happen today. They'd had no disasters all day and he'd gotten what he wanted: to make it through this first shift after a disastrous run.

"Actually, we should probably log all the calls we had today," Johnny said. "We'll never remember them in the morning."

"Good idea." Roy nodded. He scratched his jaw with his thumb, looking like he was contemplating how he'd missed that task.

They'd responded to a call placed to emergency by a German Shepherd, which saved his owner's life, incidentally. A woman with her head stuck in stair balusters in a successful attempt to demonstrate why her eight-year-old shouldn't ever do the same; Johnny suspected the little imp had managed to talk his mother into it, judging from the grin on his freckled face. A car-down-a-ravine call, which turned out to be a rusty Studebaker that looked like it had been there a good fifteen years, but at least they'd had the engine crew along for company on that one. Mr. Snyder, the man caught in the fake spider's web. Al backing over Phyllis in the market's parking lot.

He could go on. The point was, none of those things were particularly ominous. Maybe his gut had been trying to tell him that the universe was taking pity on him by giving him so many silly things to do he'd have no choice but to climb out of his funk. Score one point for the universe. It was far wiser than him. Johnny reached into the squad and pulled out the papers jammed into the glove box and scattered on the seat. Oh, heck. He thought he'd gotten better at staying organized. He only hoped they'd be able to collectively remember in what order these had all happened. He'd started the day numbering them when it became apparent they would be busier than usual, but round about this illegible number, that convention had been abandoned.

Roy tapped him on the shoulder and thumbed toward the kitchen. That was as good a place as any, with the engine crew temporarily absent. He and Roy could develop a quick rhythm if they weren't interrupted by the likes of Chet Kelly. Fourteen hours of running could be recorded in an hour or so if they were fortunate. Fifteen minutes in, the klaxons blared to life. Not lucky.

**Squad 51. Unknown rescue at 1733 Palm Court. One-Seven-Three-Three Palm. Time out, 2230**.

Roy headed for the mike and acknowledged the call, scribbling down the address while Johnny opened the bay door. Neither of them had to verify the addresses' location on the wall map.

"That's close," Johnny murmured as he climbed into the passenger seat. "Bet you five dollars this is something crazy nobody wanted to admit to over the phone."

"I'm not going to take a sucker's bet," Roy said. "You know me better than that."

Johnny laughed. He pointed to the left, needlessly since Roy knew where to go. Johnny kept an eye on traffic and the street signs, but gazed out the windshield at the cloudless sky. The moon was enormous and very bright. A shiver ran down his back. He straightened and rolled the window up. There was a definite chill in the air.

"Full moon tomorrow."

"Yeah. Jen's sure that means the Great Pumpkin is destined to make an appearance, which, of course, he will." There was fondness in Roy's voice. "Plus she'll have you as her lucky charm."

"Ugh, you had to remind me," Johnny groused. Secretly, he was actually kind of looking forward to it. He always liked handing out candy for the few kids who lived in his apartment complex, seeing how excited the little ones were. Being out in the thick of it would remind him what life was all about, just when he needed it most. _Thank you, universe_. "Good thing Sandy's being such a good sport about all this or I'd be mad at you."

"You don't fool me, you know," Roy said.

"Aw, Roy," he said. Then pointed. "Turn left here."

The small talk ended as they navigated the residential streets slowly, careful for any wayward pedestrians. Johnny knew very well there were probably punks in every neighborhood in Carson looking for pumpkins to smash, trees to litter with toilet paper and houses to egg. He didn't know why anyone would want to suck the fun out of the holiday for others, but it was a fact of life. Roy knew it too, and drove cautiously as they both peered for the house number in the dim light.

"Up ahead," Johnny said. "Looks peaceful, anyway."

The rambler style house's lights were all on. No frantic resident greeted them and none of the neighbors were out and about. Johnny just knew this was going to be a weird one. He thought of the possibilities. Probably someone stuck on a toilet or something highly glamorous like that.

"It was quiet," Roy said, in a deep monotone. "Too quiet."

It was a joke, but damn if that shiver didn't make its way down Johnny's spine again. It wasn't like Roy to joke, for one thing, and definitely not on a call. For another, it did kind of feel too quiet.

"I really wish they'd dispatched an engine with us. And where are the uniforms?" Johnny said.

"They're always stretched thin during a full moon. Plus, Halloween. You said it yourself."

"Yeah, yeah. Squad 51, at scene," Johnny called in to dispatch. "Time, 2237."

"Let's go see what this is about," Roy said.

Since they didn't know for sure what to expect, they gathered everything. Johnny grabbed the drug box and oxygen, left the biophone for Roy. He expected to see a face in the picture window, maybe someone at the door who'd been watching for them. Not that either of those things could happen if the person who'd called it in was stuck on a toilet or had slipped in the tub. He shuffled nervously as Roy rang the doorbell and announced their presence, to no reply.

Johnny set the tank and drug box down on the stoop and edged into the shrubbery to see if he could get a line on their victim through the window. He heard faint music. Santana, he was sure, _Black Magic Woman_. He still liked that record, but it was trivia. He froze when he spotted a hand, limp, barely poking out from behind an armchair obstructing most of his view. Next to it was a phone receiver.

"We got someone down in there," Johnny said, rejoining Roy. "Break it in."

Instead, Roy grabbed the handle and tested it. It was unlocked. They moved quickly into the house, then into the living room. It was a woman, older, and it was clear she'd been assaulted. Not terribly, but there was a good-sized cut on her left temple and scattered bruising about her face and arms. Probably torso as well. The room wasn't in disarray, Johnny noticed, and he didn't detect any sign the person who'd attacked the unconscious woman was still around. There was no indication of a break in at all. Didn't matter. They needed the cops here, and sooner rather than later. Roy was already on the handie-talkie, calling for an engine, ambulance and the police.

Roy should have taken the bet. Johnny would have to point out his partner could have made a quick five bucks. There wasn't anything crazy about this call.

"Ma'am, can you hear me?" Johnny jostled the woman gently. Her head lolled, but she gave no response. He rubbed his knuckles against her sternum. That garnered a groan. "Ma'am?"

She came awake as if cold water had been splashed on her, gasping and choking. Her eyes were feverish with terror. She tried to sit, bucked against Johnny when he tried to keep her calm.

"It's okay." He glanced at Roy, who looked back at him with his lips pressed tightly together. "You're okay."

And, as suddenly, she went limp again. Not unconscious, but not fully there either. Her eyes were glassy. Drugs, maybe, or maybe just ordinary fear.

Johnny started taking her vitals. He expected a racing pulse and high respiratory rate and got both. BP was as he expected as well. "120 and weak. 100 over 60. 35, shallow," he said.

She was definitely shocky. Johnny didn't like this. Someone had scared the living daylights out of this woman. Her body's stressed reaction was actually more troubling than her injuries, which appeared relatively minor. He was missing something. He talked softly to her as he worked on bandaging her head, listening for instructions from Rampart. The record had moved on to _Oye Como Va_, and inside the house the music was not faint.

Roy stood and strode out of Johnny's line of sight, abandoning his post with a clipped announcement to Rampart to hold on.

A rough scratch and the music cutting out told him where Roy had gone and why. Thank goodness. The music had been adding an air of chaos they didn't need. Without it, though, the woman's inhalations were loud and almost as unnerving. Roy was back in a few seconds, attending to the patient as if he hadn't stepped away.

"At this time, we're uncertain," Roy said into the biophone in response to a question about possible drugs.

"Her pupils are dilated, but equal. A little sluggish," Johnny said.

Didn't rule out drugs, but Johnny thought she was mostly scared. He tapped her on the cheek again.

"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened? Can you tell us your name?"

Not getting the answers he wanted didn't mean he'd stopped moving. He unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it open. As he suspected, additional bruises could be found. A particularly large one colored her midsection, to the left. He probed it, frowning at Roy. It wasn't too bad, but there was some rigidity and guarding. Coupled with the fright, he'd just found the primary reason for shock. He pointed to it, but Roy was already handing him a bag of D5W and an IV kit.

"Go," Johnny said. "I can handle it alone for a minute."

They hadn't anticipated this level of trauma, or had the manpower between them to bring that box. He didn't hear sirens coming, and estimated the ambulance was still some ways away. Just this poor lady's luck. As for Johnny, he wasn't sure which he wanted to see first: a squad car or a bus. Cops should have been dispatched from the outset. He brushed his hand across his patient's clammy forehead. Bus, without a doubt. The scene was secure, but the woman wasn't.

"Rampart, victim also has a deep bruise to her left side," Johnny reported. He wasn't even sure who was on the other end. The directives had been more important than the voice giving them. "There is some minor rigidity and guarding."

"_51, get her in shock trousers as a precaution and start an IV D5W. Transport as soon as possible,"_ Brackett ordered.

Johnny repeated that back to Rampart to confirm, then readied the needle. He started the IV cleanly by the time Roy got back, already with the shock trousers out. Johnny held the IV bag between his teeth as they coordinated their movements, easily sliding the petite woman in place and snapping the pants. Roy instantly set about inflating them.

"No sign of the ambulance?" Johnny asked.

Déjà vu.

"I heard it coming," Roy said. "Engine too. Should be soon."

"Cat," the woman moaned, reviving a little with the influx of fluids. "Cat."

"Ma'am?" Johnny asked, leaning close.

"Cat," she whispered again, and lifted her IVed arm up. "Shhh-she…"

Roy took the woman's arm and placed it back on the ground. He murmured something to her, too low for anyone to hear except to note it sounded reassuring. He started to take another set of vitals.

"I'm sure your cat's fine," Johnny said, trying to find a way to calm the woman down. "Ma'am, can you tell us your name?"

"Cat," she said again. "Came back."

That was when Johnny heard movement behind him. A thud of footsteps approaching, and they weren't from a cat. Everything seemed to happen fast and slow at the same time. He twisted and looked behind them, toward the wide open front door. Rushing forward, another woman, younger. Her hair was stringy, disheveled. The look on her face was … feral. There was blood streaking her bare arms. Johnny stared at it, his eyes taking in everything like the lights were strobing, only in jumbled flashes. The new woman's right hand looked like it extended to a point. That wasn't right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roy moving as well.

"Whu…" he said, standing with his hands outstretched.

"I know what you are," she screamed.

Then she was on him. Johnny's reactions were slowed by surprise and exhaustion. The woman seemed to be everywhere, and she was abnormally strong. She shoved him hard enough he almost lost his balance, shambled a step to keep from falling. He heard a wet thunk, like a melon being split. He knew the sound. Head, head, not his. Roy? He couldn't see his partner, only flashes. Johnny felt a strange, intense pressure on the right side of his chest and his breath seemed to get knocked out of him in one whoosh. He couldn't regain it fully. His attacker stopped whaling on him, scampered away with another shriek.

"Vampire! Monster."

Johnny gasped, alarmed by how sudden the attack ended and, more, his inability to suck in a full breath. He looked down and saw…oh, no, that was why he couldn't breathe. His left hand went up reflexively, down and then back up in rapid succession toward the large hunk of wood piercing his chest. Hammer? Something thick and rectangular. Oh. Oh. What? He heard Roy shout but couldn't understand. He sought out his partner. His legs were starting to feel rubbery. It didn't hurt. It should hurt.

For a split second, his eyes locked onto Roy. Blood. There was blood on Roy's face. Roy looked terrible. Johnny opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He wasn't sure what he'd wanted to say. He wasn't sure what had happened. He wasn't sure of anything. He fell to his knees, his left hand again reaching for the thing in his chest. His eyes rolled back into his head and he sagged to the floor. His last clear thought was that the universe must hate him after all.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thank you all for your patience. It was the kind of week that ends with you locking yourself in the bathroom at work and crying. Heh._

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Six**

Chris liked to watch Looney Tunes on Saturday mornings. Sometimes, when Roy wasn't on duty, he'd lounge around and watch too, for as long as Joanne would allow it. Which was, he admitted, pretty much always until the end of the show. He didn't care about the cartoons, but he loved how much Chris loved them. Jenny joined them sometimes, her laughter like music as she watched the antics on the screen.

What had entered 1733 Palm Court and was currently flying toward them was human. Had to be. But it reminded Roy of the Tasmanian Devil from those Saturday morning cartoons, with how fast it moved and how much of a ruckus it was making. He saw Johnny get to his feet, a befuddled look on his face that at any other time might have been funny. The woman, Roy thought it was a woman, lit into Johnny. Yes, a young woman, barely more than a girl. Unprepared as he was, Johnny made no coordinated effort to defend himself.

The girl screamed something indecipherable.

Roy stood and stepped over their victim, to shield her and help Johnny. An elbow came at his face, from the melee of kicks and punches aimed mostly at his partner. The strength of it caught him off guard, with the force of the girl's frenzied state behind it. Intense pain jolted through his left cheekbone and eye socket. His world became a burst of stars followed immediately by a blurred grayness, a confused mix of sound and touch and sight. But he never went fully out. He stayed conscious, and on his feet. Roy saw it all happen through his right eye, the left too compromised with tears and swelling.

He was aware enough to know what was going on but was unable to prevent it. It happened so fast and seemed to take forever. He called out, but that did nothing to distract the girl or caution Johnny. He watched as her arm, something dark and long in her hand, descended on a direct course for Johnny. The hollow, wet-sounding thump was something Roy had heard before. He knew what it meant. Roy watched dumbly as the girl scampered away from his partner.

"Vampire," she said. "Monster."

Johnny remained on his feet, heaving for breath in the aftermath of the attack. Roy saw what the girl had been holding. Embedded in his partner. Roy's gut felt like it dropped to the floor. Even with blurred vision, he knew it was bad. He wanted to believe it wasn't real. Blinking didn't make it disappear from his blurry sight.

The girl started laughing, high-pitched. Hysterical.

Distracted, Roy looked at her. It was a fraction of a second. When he looked back, Johnny's left hand was jerking toward the piece of wood protruding out of his chest.

"Johnny, don't," Roy shouted, his arms outstretched.

But Johnny didn't look like he was registering anything, his face white and slack. His hand dropped, though that probably had nothing to do with Roy's warning. He wobbled, his eyes tracking the room until they stopped on Roy. For one second, Johnny's attention was focused directly on him. His mouth gaped open, but no sound came out. Then his eyes became confused, glassy.

Roy lurched for Johnny as his partner's knees gave and he once again reached for the stake driven into him. Johnny's eyes rolled, he went down hard on his side. Roy couldn't stop that either, and in making the attempt lost his own balance. He hit the floor on one knee, the hand he put down to steady himself landing on the inflated shock trouser and skidding off. His head felt muddy and thick, but the pain was sharp as his shift in position made his blood rush. His stomach threatened to rebel, partially from that and partially from seeing Johnny lying there unmoving. He kept it in check.

The buzzing in his ears was compounded by the girl now crying and moaning. Roy spared her another glance, needing to know where she was for his own safety, and Johnny's and the first victim's. He spotted the girl tucked in the corner, between the sofa and the wall. Her eyes were animalistic, her breathing irregular. There was too much. The original victim, Johnny. This girl who could go off again at any moment. It all swirled together.

It must have been forever since this all started two minutes ago. He had to see to Johnny. But he couldn't leave the first victim. Roy checked her, saw she was conscious and sobbing. He crawled over to Johnny, reached for his partner's wrist. He couldn't find a pulse. His hand shook too hard. It wasn't because it wasn't there. No, not that. The room spun, and he worried he was going to pass out after all. He couldn't. Not with his partner lying there. Maybe dying. Maybe already dead.

Roy shook himself out of it, used the pain of every jarring motion to stay in the present. Pulse. There was a pulse beneath his fingertips. He reached for the bandages scattered about, all of their equipment in disarray from the attack. The four by fours weren't going to be enough to pack it sufficiently. He needed help, where was his help? He opened several packets and pressed the gauze around the stake in Johnny's chest, fighting the growing urge to vomit. Johnny didn't react at all.

His movements set the girl off. She came at him like she was possessed, howling about blood and vampires and monsters.

Where was the ambulance? Where were the police? Roy's thoughts were desperate, because he already knew the strength the slip of a girl had. It wasn't easy to plunge a weapon into … oh, God, Johnny. He scuttled away from his partner. If he had to fight the girl off, he would not do it where it would place both Johnny and the first victim in additional harm's way. As the girl flailed at him, he heard the wail of sirens and shouts. And another voice, which sounded distant and canned. Familiar. Brackett? Oh, the biophone. Biophone. Help. Fingernails scratched at his face, his arms. A punch landed on his already damaged left eye.

This time the stars faded only to make way for darkness.

He couldn't have been out for more than a second, hadn't been out at all, not really. But the next thing Roy knew, he was surrounded by a different kind of chaos. He was on his back, looking at feet. Lots of feet. Black shoes. Voices. The girl screaming louder and louder. Roy was startled into a clearer mind. No time. His head hurt, but that couldn't matter right now. Johnny. Someone gripped his shoulders. He fought, only for a second.

"Holy hell, what happened here? Roy? Oh jeez. John," that someone said, in a familiar voice. The smell of smoke was caustic. "LA, Engine 51. We need another squad and ambulance to 1733 Palm Court. We have Code I times two."

"I'm okay, Cap," Roy said, slurring. He struggled to sit. The hands on his shoulders helped him. "Johnny."

Everything snapped into focus as quickly as it had snapped out. Roy didn't have time to worry about a concussion, or maybe a broken cheekbone. Training took over. He shook out of Captain Stanley's hold.

"Cat," the original victim said to no one and anyone. "She … she's off her medication. She doesn't know. Don't…"

Roy knew he had an obligation to the woman, and he would get to her. Johnny, though. Triage had to put Johnny first, or he was dead. The original victim was conscious and coherent. The girl, he noted, was cuffed and being led out the door by a cop, still fighting and screaming. Another officer, entering the house, immediately assisted in getting the girl under control.

"Cap," Roy said. He pointed out the door. "Tell 'em she needs to go to Rampart, not jail yet. Psych. Schizophrenic, maybe. Another squad?"

"Coming," Cap told him, giving him a funny look before he headed after the officers. "Sit tight, pal."

But Roy couldn't sit tight, as much as his throbbing face and head told him he should. He crawled to his partner. Johnny had been pushed onto his back somewhere during the second assault. Roy saw blood around the wound and cursed under his breath. He automatically started packing what gauze he could find against the stake, barely noticing when another set of hands assisted him.

"Roy, I got it. I got him," Chet said and took over. "Marco's on the woman."

Good, that was good. Roy looked up. There was a smudge of soot on Chet's nose, but his hands were clean. Gloves. Roy saw the ambulance attendants had entered the house at some point, and gawked uncertainly at the scene.

"She's ready to go," he said, gesturing to the crying woman. "Load her now."

If the second ambulance didn't arrive soon, they'd have to squeeze Johnny in too. He didn't think she should go unattended and Roy was not leaving Johnny, who still hadn't uttered a sound. Not even a moan.

"Elevate his feet, careful. Don't bump him," Roy said. To anyone nearby. His vision was starting to tunnel and he wasn't sure who besides Kelly was there with him. "Blanket. Some … someone get Rampart. Oxygen."

Roy scrabbled, searching for the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. He knew Johnny was very shocky. One look at him told him that, his partner's skin white as milk and covered in a fine layer of sweat. The body simply couldn't take impalement without shutting down on itself. He was going to puke. He swallowed. He couldn't see the dial well enough to get a proper reading. He abandoned the task anxiously, concentrated instead on the things he could do. Respiration and pulse. Rapid, shallow. No breath sounds at all on the right. He thought he called that out loud. He tried again, to make sure.

"I've already got them, Roy," Mike Stoker's quiet voice said, close to his ear. "IV of D5W, watch the breath sounds, stabilize the … thing and get him in."

Roy stared at his shaking hands. He was sick, in his heart and stomach. Thank goodness for the rest of the crew. They pulled their weight and then some, but they couldn't do an IV for him.

"I don't, I don't think I can start a line right now," he said. He held out his hands to show why, but they were only half of it. He couldn't see well enough. "Stoker … Mike, I can't."

"110's guys are here," Cap announced, reentering the house.

The relief was so staggering, Roy nearly lost it right there. Somehow, he didn't. The paramedic that was so much a part of who he was remained in control. Mostly. He was pretty sure if there were a way to see inside him, everyone would know he was flying apart piece by piece.

"One of 'em should go in with the woman. Beaten, possible internal hemorrhage on the left side," Roy gasped. "And I need the other on this IV fast."

He knelt by Johnny's head, touched his shoulder. He wanted his partner to wake up, give him some sign that he was okay. Of course, the problem was that Johnny wasn't okay. Chet had done a good job stabilizing the rod, a mass of white bandages covering half of Johnny's chest. The wildness of the night's events caught up with and swamped Roy like a monsoon. He tilted to the side, his own breathing starting to hitch. He was not going to faint. He was going to cling to consciousness until he knew for sure his partner was going to be all right.

"Johnny," he said, without having meant to.

Mitch Stephens, half of squad 110's paramedics, appeared all of a sudden, cussing in surprise but then getting to business. He adjusted the oxygen flow and established his own communication with Rampart.

Roy watched and listened and his hands helped when Stephens directed him to do something, seemingly on their own. More habit than knowledge. When he wasn't helping, he held onto Johnny's shoulder as if it were an anchor. He didn't know Stephens all that well, other than to know he was capable and sure and fast. Minutes felt like seconds, and Roy was stunned to see the second ambulance was not only there but that Johnny was being lifted onto a gurney. Johnny's left hand flopped off the side.

Roy stared at the mess on the floor, discarded supplies and a small amount of blood. He saw Johnny's face again, right after it happened, the blank shock. He'd never forget.

"DeSoto," Stephens said. "You okay to grab the biophone and drug box? I'm treating you en route. I think Gage here is trying to crap out on us."

Roy clambered to his feet. The world moved beneath him, like it was made of slowly rippling gelatin. The change in altitude was too much. It was all too much, at last. He felt someone grab him by the right arm as he bent at the waist, nearly fell and finally, violently threw up. The exertion hurt, nearly stole his breath as his face felt like it was being ripped off. There was another steadying presence on his left, buffering him.

"It's okay, you're okay," Cap said. "Let's get him out there. Lopez, bring the equipment."

He must have gone hazy again, because in the span of a blink Roy was thumped and bumped around in the back of the ambulance. The siren made his head hurt. Seeing Johnny so unresponsive and pale made it hurt worse. The fluids should be helping with that. Roy had a nearly drained IV bag held aloft in his shaking hand and no memory of taking that over. He had his other hand pressed to his face, holding an ice pack. Huh.

"Breath sounds are gone on the right, diminishing on the left, oh no, hell, no Gage," Stephens muttered. He turned and shouted, "I need you to pull over for a minute."

"It, the…" Roy said. "It might have gone in deeper at some point. I don't know."

Stephens tossed him an incredulous look, or it was possibly that he thought Roy was an idiot for stating the obvious. Then he yelled into the biophone and started moving almost as fast as that girl when she'd attacked Johnny.

For a second, Roy thought Stephens was trying to kill Johnny. Like the girl had. It didn't make sense, but he instinctively reached to stop him, earning a glare and a lecture he couldn't hear let alone understand. Roy's hearing seemed spotty at best. There was an awful lot of noise. He'd ridden in hundreds of ambulances and none of them had sounded like this.

"You need your eyes covered, DeSoto. You've sustained some potentially serious damage yourself and you're in shock," Stephens said, breaking through. "But I gotta bag Gage."

Oh. Oh, that meant Johnny wasn't breathing on his own. Roy was horrified he'd missed that was what the commotion was all about. How had he? He had to stop fuzzing in and out. Had to. He couldn't sit there, useless, while his friend died.

"I'll do it."

"DeSoto."

"I can do it, I'm okay," Roy said. He dropped the ice pack and took hold of the ambu bag to prove it. He gave the IV bag to Stephens. Then he placed a hand on Johnny's chest and felt for the rhythm he should have known wasn't going to be there. "Damn it, Johnny, stay with me."

Stephens didn't look like he liked it, but busied himself monitoring Johnny and also prepping bandages for Roy's eyes.

When the other paramedic came at him with the gauze, Roy bucked back. No. Not yet. He didn't care if it would hurt him in the long run. He had to see. If Johnny lived or died, Roy was going to bear witness to it.

It didn't matter anyway. The ambulance pulled into the hospital and the rear doors opened. He didn't let up on the ambu bag, somehow willed his legs to stay with him as Brackett directed the transport from the ambulance through the emergency room. Unyielding hands moved him when they crossed into a treatment room, hands which firmly took the job of breathing for Johnny away from him and steered him out of the way. He stepped back, torn between needing to stay at Johnny's side and knowing that his partner was better off with Brackett's help. He hit the wall without realizing he was headed there. It kept him upright, barely.

"Is that what I think it is? I don't like the angle of penetration at all. Roy, what the hell hap…" Brackett halted as soon as he got his first direct look at Roy. "Dix, get him out of here. Now."

"No," Roy said and pulled from Dixie's touch.

He didn't want to go anywhere, not until Johnny showed some signs of life. The lights seemed extraordinarily bright, blinding. The sound of a chainsaw filled his ears and everything swam in front of him. He was going out, but it wasn't happening without a fight. Unfortunately, he didn't have much fight left in him. As Roy slid down the wall, he heard the shrill, mechanical cry of a heart monitor followed by Brackett's voice yelling, before everything winked into blackness that seemed intent on lasting.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Just a wee one this time, squeezed in before the start of another long week. I want to thank those who've put the story on alert and those who've commented anon - I see you, and I appreciate you! _

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Seven**

Johnny was flying. Not in an airplane, he was simply flying in the open skies, totally unencumbered. When he was a little boy, he used to tie a towel around his neck and tear around the yard, arms spread wide. He was always certain if he ran fast enough, had enough momentum, he could soar like an eagle. He never had achieved it, of course, but it had never mattered. The feeling was there, all he had to do was close his eyes. This, wherever he was, felt like that, only the feeling was more intense than even the imagination of a child could produce. The wind rushed against his face, made it slightly difficult to inhale. It was cool and steady pressure and he found himself gasping. But he wasn't worried. He was exhilarated.

Somewhere behind him he began to hear a strange sound, detracting from the enjoyment of clouds and air against his face. Rhythmic, a thump and a whoosh, over and over. And another noise, recognizable but not quite something he could name. He focused on those sounds, and after a while figured the most logical thing they sounded like was a flock of geese. Honking and flapping their wings in a natural beat. Because he'd somehow managed to lift off the ground and was in the air, so it made sense. Total sense. Johnny tried to take a deep breath, wanting to release a cry into the clouds, and that was when he realized he couldn't. He couldn't shout or breathe. He wasn't in control.

There was something jammed in his mouth, down his throat, choking him. The geese, not geese, couldn't be geese, whatever was behind him raised in pitch, beeped and then fairly screeched. If he'd been flying a moment ago, now Johnny was in a tailspin. Falling, falling and soon he was going to hit and it hurt, hurt already. .

"Now is not the time to wake up, Gage," a voice said, loud and jarring. "Sharon, get over here."

The freedom of flight was replaced by a strong, downward force upon his shoulders, his chest. Everywhere, every inch of his body was pinned in place. Panicked, Johnny tried to move and couldn't any easier than he could breathe. He was overcome with nausea, a pit of dread in his stomach. His heart felt like it was skipping, missing more beats than hitting. It hurt like hell.

"His heart rate's all ov –"

Everything went black, gray, black, gray.

He thought he was on his bunk, at the station. He could hear the traffic hum off the 405, with startlingly regular honks of horns from disgruntled drivers. People on the road seemed to be getting angrier and angrier. Johnny was exhausted, trying to rest, but sleep eluded him. All that noise. The mattress beneath him was hard, uncomfortable. He tried to shift and couldn't. Strange. He tried to raise his arm to drape it over his eyes. He couldn't move at all. He opened his eyes, expected to see the station dorm but all he saw was bright, blurry light. He couldn't keep his eyes open. He drifted, not asleep and not awake even though his mind was screaming to move.

"BP's holding for now. I'd really like to get an X-ray of his chest, but I don't know if we've got the time. Joe, if he goes out on us again, trying to keep him alive might be what kills him."

Johnny knew the words should make sense. He understood them, but it was as if he were missing their actual meaning. He had no context. He felt like he was floating, except he was lying on something hard. Not floating. Head was, not body. He felt strange. Disconnected. The traffic noises had increased. He'd gone from the station to standing right on the freeway. But he wasn't standing. Lying. What? He was so confused. Too tired to sort it out, too tired to even open his eyes and figure out if he really was lying just off the highway. Maybe he'd left the TV on, loud. Maybe Chet had. He wanted to understand.

"Going in blind on a delicate surgery could also kill him, Kel. One wrong move, and that thing is in his heart. Don't you want to see how close it already is, how much of a margin for error there is?"

Brackett and Early. It clicked suddenly. He recognized who was speaking, their voices quiet but not hushed. Right above him, like they were the ones floating. Johnny's brain started kicking in more, the words coming together in proper order. He didn't know what they were doing on the 405 with him, but whatever patient the doctors were talking about sounded like he was in rough shape. Poor guy was damned if they did and damned if they didn't, the way it seemed to Johnny.

"I know you're right, but I have a feeling I'm not going to like what a picture shows us," Brackett said. He sighed. "Who am I kidding? I don't like it already. I'm worried we're going to lose him."

"You're not alone in that."

"They should be almost done with your patient. Are you anticipating much damage there? From what I saw, it looked like Ro –"

Johnny grew tired of the conversation, or maybe he simply grew tired. He was always tired. Sleep pulled him away in pieces, hearing first as the roar of cars passing changed to something more like ocean waves. Beach. Hot sun on his face. Hot sand beneath, itching against his calves. Hot, hot heat all around him. He liked the warmth, though. Except in a blink, it became too much and he wanted to cool down. He was exhausted and couldn't muster the energy to do anything about his discomfort. He'd have to lie there, sweltering. Maybe he'd melt. He shivered. If he were dreaming, he should be able to have some control.

Someone's hands tugged at his shirt as if they'd heard his wishes. Sandy? No, his dreams didn't even give him that much. Couldn't be her, though. The hands were rough, but careful. Businesslike. He wasn't wearing a shirt on the beach. Towel being pulled back. Heavy weight draped across his hips, groin, legs. What? He tried to look up, see who was touching him, couldn't. Like before, he remembered. P…paralyzed? Oh jeez. A whistle, long, loud and sharp. A ship? No. Johnny realized he couldn't be on the beach because he was at work. No, that wasn't right either. He was confused again, still. Always. Why wouldn't his brain work right?

"You know, they warned us, but I still didn't expect it." A deep voice, unfamiliar. "The other one was rambling about a crazy girl thinking this guy was a vampire."

Vampire?

"Damn. It's not every day you see someone with a chair leg rammed into his chest."

Chair leg?

"We should hurry. This guy looks like he could croak any minute and I would rather not be here when it happens."

In his mind's eye, Johnny watched someone run at him, blood streaking the arms. Punches and kicks and the air knocked from his lungs. Oh no, oh. Him. They meant him. Everyone he'd heard, it was about him. He was the poor guy who was damned either way. He was the one Brackett thought was about to kick the bucket. He remembered. The thing poking out of him. Big old hunk of wood. The last thing he recalled clearly was Roy. Roy's face, covered in blood. His heart began to pound faster. Pain radiated from the center of his chest outward, it stole his breath. He longed for the peace of unconsciousness. Of death, even.

"Oh, shoot, he's awake. He's … go get Doctor Brac –"

He was floating again. Liquid and smooth. On a raft, down a river, maybe. Johnny opened his eyes a crack, surprised he could. He saw only white and bright and hazy. No, no, a face above. He knew it though he couldn't make out any features clearly. Knew the worried frown was there, imagined the shock of hair unruly and sticking up in tufts on the side. Not imagining. Big white patch covering half of the face. Bandage. Roy, Roy. Rolling waves thundered and crashed against the raft, not raft, gurney. Hospital. Dying. He choked against the invasive tube in his throat, maybe the only thing keeping him alive. Warm strength embraced his left hand, held on. Johnny tried to squeeze back and couldn't, couldn't move or breathe or talk, ask Roy if he was okay. Roy didn't look okay. He couldn't see, but he knew anyway. Lights flashing overhead as he rolled. Light, dark, light.

Roy's mouth was moving, talking. Johnny squinted, gave up right away. He couldn't see much of anything but white now, or hear anything except a metallic scrape. Wheels on tile. The squeak of well-used equipment bearing his weight. Dying. Roy? Roy. The squeak got louder, more insistent. Voices, shouting. Screaming. A cat? Something about a cat. The whole world jerked to the side. Horrific, terrifying pain. He tried to gasp, eyes opened reflexively and he saw another face, angry. Arms, legs. Everywhere. Shouts and curses. And then someone speaking to him instead of about, the words sharp and clear as a bell. Roy.

"Don't, don't. Get her back. Johnny, hold on."

Johnny wanted to very much, but he couldn't.

"_John._"


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: LOL, ghostwriter - and here I thought I was cheating Johnny out of some POV. Big ol' hugs to those of you I can't thank in PM. On with the show? On with the show._

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Eight**

Half his face was numb, but at the moment he wasn't quite sure which half. The feeling was disconcerting. He didn't like it. If he thought about it, Roy wasn't quite sure of anything except that he was lying on a mattress that wasn't his bed at home or the station. He didn't like that, either, or the fact he didn't remember getting wherever he was. His head hurt like hell. Distantly, he heard a muddle of many voices and sounds that grew louder for a moment and then quieter again. He heard the snick of a door shutting, then sloshing water, footsteps nearing the bed. A soft touch, damp cloth, and he snapped to full awareness. He recognized the sounds of Rampart.

"What?" he said and sat. The action made his face throb so hard he could barely breathe. He was keenly aware he could only see out of his right eye. "Ugh."

Dixie McCall, fond sternness playing across her features for a second, pushed him down firmly but gently. She had a cloth in her hand. She dabbed it against the left side of Roy's face.

If that had been the numb side, it wasn't anymore. Roy had felt much deeper pain in his life, but the discomfort of this sensation was more apparent because of how little he had felt seconds ago. The numbness seemed like a figment, a dream he would really rather go back to if this was the alternative. He hoped someone had seen the truck that had hit him and gotten the number. That new, sharp pain exacerbated his headache and he had to swallow a couple times to keep from throwing up. The sour taste in his mouth told him he had already done that at least once.

"Lie back," she said. "You took a pretty good knock. You've been out for a few minutes, but we're not sure it was due to the head injury. Doctor Early has ordered a set of X-rays for that skull of yours. The guys are here."

Just like that, Roy remembered. He remembered it all. His head didn't matter. He didn't care if his cheek was broken or if he'd never see out of his left eye again. Oh god. His ears rang with the memory of monitors hooked up to Johnny. His friend was dead. His friend had died when he stood not four feet away, and all he'd managed to do was pass out.

"Johnny's all right," Dixie said, accurately reading the distress before Roy voiced it. "He's giving us a run for our money, but he's holding his own for now. We need to take care of you."

Not dead. Dixie wasn't one to sugarcoat, and she wouldn't lie. Not about that. Johnny was still alive. Relief slammed into him for the second time that night. His emotions were right on the edge and the news was enough to make him teeter, his eyes hot with tears. He only maintained control by glancing away. He picked out a spot on the wall and stared at it until the vision in his right eye was clear enough to make out the tiles. Then he realized the way Dixie had framed her assurance. For now. Johnny was okay _for now_. Roy knew what that meant. He knew what he'd seen and heard.

"I don't think he's all right," Roy whispered, his voice distorted a little. He ignored the intrusion of the portable X-ray machine and the techs, only tangentially aware of them as they set things up. The scene back at the house replayed in his head. "She … she thought he was some kind of monster. She was so little, but she stabbed him like it was nothing. Johnny, a vampire. She wanted to kill him. I can't even believe it. It happened so fast. I couldn't do anything to help him."

Roy looked at her, saw emotions flash across her face. Confusion, alarm and finally a return to professional distance. He didn't know how or why, but he did gain some comfort from her steady presence. He always did; that calmness was precisely why she was such a good emergency nurse. He realized the only people who knew what had actually gone down were wounded, physically or mentally or both. Treatment was more important than the why of it all. All Dixie had known was their conditions, not how they'd gotten that way and it had to be disconcerting to hear even what Roy had just said. That she could process all that and regain her cool in a matter of seconds was impressive.

"He's not all right, Dix."

Dixie rubbed his shoulder, still dabbing at his bruised, lacerated face with one hand. She had the grace to remain silent, which only confirmed that his gut was right.

As for Roy, the horror of watching Johnny stand there stunned while he himself stood there also, as stunned and helpless. Everything was a giant blur, but the one thing he saw clearly: he hadn't done a real thing to help Johnny at the scene or since. He'd been useless. He had to do something now. He struggled to sit.

"No, you don't. Let these guys do their job."

"But John –"

"Roy. I understand," Dixie cut him off, voice soft. "Believe me, I do. But right now Doctor Brackett is assessing what Johnny needs, and you can bet it will involve X-raying his … well, it will involve this machine. The more quickly we can take care of you, the more quickly we can take care of Johnny. If it's possible, I'm sure you can see him then."

He closed his good eye. Dix was right. Roy knew she was, and he knew he had to fight instinct and go with logic. Logic was easier said than done, but he kept his eye closed and nodded. He felt Dixie squeeze his shoulder and then she was gone. He submitted to the X-ray technicians' instructions, having gone through it before and knowing what to expect anyway, and mentally willed them to hurry. He had places to be. The heavy lead-lined apron was draped over his chest and torso.

"Okay, try not to move," one of the techs said.

Johnny would have known the man by voice, would have been making small talk despite his pain. Roy didn't have it in him.

"We'll be done in a flash."

Roy fought instinct again when he managed to not scream at the guy. He knew even when they were done he'd have to wait until the images were back. Not for a minute did he believe Johnny had that kind of time, not since the last thing he remembered was the sound of his partner's heart stopping. He clenched his hands into fists.

"Move it a little up here. Early likes multiple angles," the other tech said.

About thirty seconds later, they were done and rolling out the X-ray equipment. Roy thought he heard someone wish him luck, or maybe it was to get well. He was too preoccupied to care. What kind of pictures would they take of Johnny? How much worse would those images showing the insides of a horrible injury be than how it looked on the surface? He didn't have to see internal damage to know it was there. He had a sick feeling Johnny wasn't going to survive this, and he didn't know what he'd do.

"…him alone," Dixie said as the door opened. "I'll take the films to the lab for you guys. They need you in three five minutes ago."

That meant Johnny was in three. Roy made a note of that, hoping he could sweet talk his way out of this treatment room and into that one. Barring that, he might have to implement a great escape. If only he didn't feel like his grandmother could tackle him right about now, as physically hurt and tired as he was. Emotionally, too, he had to admit. He heard the squeak of rubber soles on the floor, oddly spaced so likely only from one shoe. Roy almost chuckled. Johnny had called Doctor Early out for his squeaky shoe once, telling him he'd never sneak up on anyone that way. Early had laughed and said he was too distinguished for sneaking.

"I doubt very much you've got anything but deep bruising and a decent-sized cut, if you're telling the truth about not losing consciousness on scene," the doctor said, without any type of segue. Apparently, he thought the shoes were enough to reveal his identity and the situation didn't call for welcome speeches. "You've got some swelling, but the eye itself isn't distended. Mitch Stephens was worried about that. The scratches are superficial, but, boy, she got you good, huh?"

"Elbow," Roy said, glancing at the doctor. "I took a lousy elbow to the face, while Johnny…."

"I know." Early's expression clouded slightly from his usual pleasant demeanor. "I just came from seeing Johnny myself. He'll be headed to surgery any minute, so let's hurry and get you bandaged up, okay?"

Roy nodded, pretended that it didn't hurt to do so. Good, Early understood.

"I think now I can safely get you something for that nasty headache you've got as well," the doc said.

"It's nothing, I don't need anything," Roy lied.

Painkillers might knock him out and he couldn't have that. He concentrated on maintaining calm breathing through the discomfort as Early set about stitching and bandaging him. Roy knew why the doctor was taking on the task personally. It was a comfort thing, and he did appreciate it.

"What about the woman? Th … the girl?"

"I saw your original patient, her name is Martha Drewes. I suspect she's got a bleeder. Kidney, but it doesn't look too bad. We're going to monitor her for a few days. Hopefully it won't come to surgery." Early pressed tape against Roy's forehead, securing the giant white bandage in place. "She was cognizant enough to let us know her daughter Catherine is a schizophrenic who disappeared from home several weeks ago. Ms. Drewes suspected the girl's been off her meds since then. I know it's no excuse and it doesn't make Johnny's situation better, but I don't think the poor girl had any idea what she was doing."

"Huh," Roy said.

Early was right in that it didn't make it better. It also wasn't anything Roy hadn't already figured out even in the chaos of the night's events. No one with a healthy chemical balance in the brain was likely to try to stab someone in the heart. Maybe in the morning he'd find it in him to feel pity for her. He doubted it.

"There you go," Early said, with one last press to the tape. "You've got a built-in Halloween costume."

Halloween. Oh, no. Chris and Jenny. If Roy didn't know what he would do if Johnny didn't make it, he had even less of an idea what his kids would do. He didn't regret his friendship with Johnny or that it had extended to his family, not really, but his kids doted on Johnny and it would be difficult. But, no. No, it wasn't going to happen. He was going to make sure Johnny knew it was not allowed for him to go anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not in a week or a year.

Roy sat and swung his legs off the side of the gurney, grateful for the hand on his elbow as the room tilted on its axis. He shot Early a half-smile before heading for the door. After figuring out where he was, he aimed for treatment room three. He didn't make it four steps when the door of that room opened and a small medical contingent emerged. With a gurney and Johnny. With a rush of adrenaline steadying his legs, Roy moved quickly to his partner's side. He was surprised to see Johnny's eyes were open.

"Johnny," he said, gaining no reaction.

"Roy, there isn't time. I'm sorry," Brackett said, more tersely than usual.

Disregarding the doctor, Roy grasped Johnny's hand. It was so cold and Johnny didn't respond, still. Couldn't. It only made what Roy had to say all the more important, and yet he wasn't even sure he could muster anything appropriate. Johnny was white, his face nearly bloodless. The tube hanging from his mouth was an ugly reminder that Johnny wasn't even able to breathe on his own.

"Hey, it's okay." Roy ran along with the gurney. "You're going to be fine. You promised Jenny, remember? You have to stick around to see her costume and the Great Pumpkin. You just have to stick around."

It was probably wishful thinking, but Roy swore he felt Johnny give his hand a squeeze. Buoyed by it even if it was all in his head, he didn't notice the noise until it was practically on top of them. He turned his head and experienced the worst case of déjà vu he never wanted to déjà vu again. A short distance away, breaking free from several orderlies and Doctor Mike Morton, was the girl. Cat. She moved with speed that shouldn't surprise him.

She had most of her attention on Johnny.

"Don't, don't," Roy shouted. He raised his arms to ward her off. "Get her back."

But it was too late. They were caught off guard and the girl got through the group of people protecting Johnny. She jammed her hands into his side, clawed at him like she was going for the stake in his chest. She was. The whole gurney skittered and jerked. Amid the girl's screams and howls, Roy heard something much worse. He heard Johnny make an awful choking sound. The tube had disconnected.

"Johnny, hold on." Roy leaned close, as if he could force his will into Johnny's failing body. All it got him was a front row seat as Johnny exhaled and of course was too weak and traumatized to inhale voluntarily. "_John_."

He fumbled for Johnny's hand, couldn't get to it before Brackett shouted something in his ear and there were additional hands and yells added to the confusion. Roy was knocked back a step, by Cat and two uniformed police officers and Chet? Marco? As he fought for balance and some comprehension, Johnny disappeared into an elevator. Roy raced the few remaining steps.

"Wandell's already scrubbed and waiting," he heard Brackett shout, as close to anxious as Roy had ever seen him. "We have the best cha –"

Then the doors shut and Johnny was gone. Roy felt like he'd taken a punch to the gut. He might have, actually. He bent over, rested his hands on his knees and took several deep breaths. The shock of what had happened, _again_, had his head spinning. There was no way Johnny's body could handle the additional stress he'd just undergone. Roy knew they'd be bringing his closest friend into the operating room with one foot already in the grave. No matter how good Brackett was, or the primary surgeon was, the odds were decidedly against Johnny.

Roy started when someone's hand touched him on the shoulder and settled on his back, just over his shoulder blade.

"You okay, pal?"

Cap. Roy straightened and looked at his captain, filled with sudden anger at the question. He was angry that some poor sick girl was able to attack them twice, the second time in a hospital that should have handled her the moment they learned her diagnosis and when she was surrounded by big, strong, official men. He was set to unleash his frustration on the nearest target when he saw Cap's face. It all bled out of him. Roy was swinging wildly, the same way Johnny had been this morning. Only this morning, when everything was okay. But Cap's face … Captain Stanley knew precisely what Roy knew, that in all likelihood, they'd seen their last glimpse of John Gage alive. Cap kept his hand on Roy's shoulder.

"No," Roy said, sagging toward the captain, "no, Cap, I don't think I am. I don't understand how this night went so wrong."

Cap's hand on his shoulder changed, shifted into sort of a hug. Roy leaned into it. Not for long, but he needed a break. One solitary moment to rely on someone else for strength. He bowed his head onto the rough fabric of Cap's turnout coat and closed his good eye. It couldn't last. Even as his forehead touched turnout, he heard Cat crying and Morton's harsh, annoyed voice. Roy looked up and saw the two cops, two orderlies, Morton and Dixie all hustling the girl into treatment room one. He wanted to be mad at Morton, but he knew the doctor was always overly cautious. Whatever happened probably wasn't his fault. He also saw the rest of his crewmates staring at him and Cap. Chet's eyes were huge, and both Marco and Mike looked vaguely green.

"Roy?" Chet said. "Gage is going to be all right, right?"

Seeing his bruised face and his reaction to Johnny's abrupt departure, they must have come to a grim conclusion. Roy wanted to tell them Johnny was going to be fine, but the words stuck. He couldn't lie. So he settled for understatement.

"It's not good," Roy said.

"Guys, I doubt he knows much more than we do," Cap said. "Roy's hurt himself."

The adrenaline that had kept Roy on his feet now abandoned him. Every muscle seemed to be shaking, individually, and on a molecular level. He tried to remember what the last real conversation he'd had with Johnny. It seemed very important to know, and he could not recall. He shivered.

"Yes, he is," Dixie said.

Her voice was far away. Roy didn't remember seeing her rejoin them after assisting with Cat. There were a lot of things he wanted to remember but couldn't, and a lot of things he couldn't forget that he wished had never happened.

"And by the looks of him, about to collapse. I think Roy here has another date with treatment room two."

_Shock_, he thought, _she thinks I'm going to shock out again_.

"No." Roy didn't need any more treatment. He didn't need anything but for this night to be over and for Johnny to still be alive come morning. "No, I'm fine."

"I know you're the paramedic, Roy," Cap said, "but you don't look fine."

Roy shook his head. He could feel the relentless tendrils of shock licking at him and knew on some level both Dixie and the cap were right. It wasn't going to be a matter of snapping out of it. But he could not be down here while his partner was up there. That _was_ something he could control.

"I need to go upstairs," he said.

"Not until the little matter of your X-rays is settled," Dixie said, not unkindly. She put a hand on his arm. "Until then, if you won't use a treatment room, why don't you guys get away from prying eyes and wait in the lounge?"

A small crowd had gathered. They were all looking at him. Roy pretended he was okay with the compromise, though it was better than going back into a treatment room. It would be hours before Johnny was out of surgery, provided he made it to the OR in time. If he didn't, it wouldn't much matter where Roy was. He was steered toward the lounge by his five well-meaning friends. Cap's hand was at his elbow. He hated that he was the center of attention, but he understood why. None of them, like him, could be with the person who actually needed them.

He sat on the sofa in the lounge, only partially aware of the others. If nothing else, his muscles let him know immediately that he truly had needed to get off his feet.

"Hey," Dixie said. "Are you going to be okay while I go run down those X-rays for you?"

"Yeah, Dix. Thanks. I'm fine. It's been … overwhelming."

"That's one way to describe it." Dixie brushed a hand down his arm, held onto his fingers for a second. "Have faith, huh?"

He and the rest of 51 watched her go, then sat silently for a minute. There was tension in the air. He knew they wanted to ask questions he didn't want to answer.

"Roy," Cap said finally, "I really hate to do this to you, but I need to get information for the incident report. We're only on stand down until then. I need to know the details of what happened tonight, at the call."

Roy squeezed his eye shut. It was bad enough replaying it over and over in his head. To give it actual words that would be committed to paper would mean it was real. Which was stupid. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt this whole blasted night had occurred.

"We need to know as well," someone's voice Roy didn't recognize said. "You're our only viable witness at the moment."

He opened his eye. Standing at the door was one of the uniformed officers that had wrestled the girl away in the hall, behind him was another man in a sport coat. Detective. Roy figured it was probably better to do this as few times as humanly possible. He nodded for the cops to join them and prepared the best he could to recount, for all to hear, one of the worst nights he'd ever lived through. One of the worst nights his partner might not.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Meant to get this up yesterday, but I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped. _

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Nine**

Johnny usually didn't like to fly. He wouldn't consider himself extraordinarily tall, not the way Captain Stanley was, even though Cap only had a couple inches on him. His legs always felt cramped and the person in front of him inevitably reclined the seat no matter what time of day it was. If it were up to him, only redeye flights would allow people to recline. It wasn't a total loss, he had to concede; the food was good and the stewardesses tended to be attractive. The goods weren't enough to outweigh the bads, though, mostly because he had gotten in his head as a young boy that flying meant open skies and an effortless soar. And having wings like a bird, or at least a cape. He couldn't ever reconcile that childhood, imagination-fueled concept of flying with the reality of hurtling through the air in a glorified tin can.

But somehow he had been bumped up to first class for this trip and it was making a world of difference in his attitude about air travel. He didn't remember how or why he got the upgrade or where he was even going, but he had ample legroom and was enjoying a complimentary drink even though the airplane was still at the gate. Johnny settled into the seat, which seemed much cushier than those in coach, stretched his legs and folded his hands behind his head. Whatever he'd done to deserve the royal treatment, he hoped he'd figure it out so he'd get a repeat of this experience sooner rather than later.

"Would you like steak or lobster today, Mr. Gage?" the gorgeous blonde first class stewardess, Samantha, asked.

"I have to choose, huh?" Johnny said, giving her his best smile. "And I thought I told you to call me Johnny."

"Both it is, Mr. Johnny Gage. Just don't tell anyone." She returned his smile with a toothy one of her own and a bonus wink. "We want to make sure you're comfortable and happy until you reach your destination."

"Well, I appreciate that."

They were off to an excellent start, or at least Samantha was. In addition to the drink and the prospect of surf and turf, Johnny had already gotten her phone number. LA was her base city. When they both got back into town, they were going to hook up for drinks and, well, Johnny hoped other things. He relished the prospect, though even as he did he had a niggle in the back of his mind about something or someone else he had a commitment to. He couldn't put a finger on it, though, and Samantha's legs and behind distracted him as she turned to speak with the person across the aisle from him.

Johnny had to find a way to always travel first class.

He enjoyed the view of Samantha's backside for a moment, then switched his gaze toward the window. He might have a one-track mind sometimes, but he wasn't completely crude. Ogling had to be done in moderation. He knew how to play the game. Well, sometimes. Mostly, in this particular instance, being in first class made him think he should behave better. Try to fit in. The guy across the aisle from him looked like some kind of high-powered businessman, maybe a lawyer. He also looked oddly familiar; Johnny figured he must have seen him in the airport.

He watched through the window as a couple coverall-clad men drove a truck bearing a mountain of luggage. He saw them shouting and gesticulating, apparently to someone else down at the cargo hatch. There, those kind of blue-collar guys doing the jobs necessary but unglamorous, that was more his speed. Johnny was in the lap of luxury at the moment, but he wasn't going to forget his roots. He let his arms fall, setting them on the armrests. Suddenly, he felt a little out of place. He leaned his head against the soft headrest, closed his eyes. No, though, he wasn't about to let this feeling of not belonging ruin his enjoyment. One trip in first class didn't mean he wouldn't stay who he was at the core. It wasn't like he could afford to make a habit of this.

"We'll be taking off in a few minutes, folks," Samantha announced, "We're just waiting on a few possible last minute passengers. In the meantime, I have a variety of magazines or newspapers for you to read if you'd like. You might also take the time to read the safety instructions located in the seat pocket in front of you."

Did anyone ever read those things? Johnny picked up his drink and adjusted the tray. It would have to be put up soon. Wondering if first class also got a more detailed set of evacuation procedures, possibly a secret way out, he leafed through the tri-folded pamphlet. He was relieved the special treatment only involved comfort and didn't extend to safety.

"Excuse me, miss, could I get another whisky sour?"

Johnny glanced at the man in the business suit. He looked nervous, and immediately gulped several swallows of the drink when Samantha delivered it with yet another sparkling smile, for the other man as well as for Johnny.

"Nervous flier?" Johnny asked.

"You could say that. This was a last minute thing, totally out of the blue. I've never flown first class," the man said, giving him a loose grin. His hair, which had started out combed neatly, was now sticking up in tufts. His eyes were glassy. "I think I can handle the sutures."

Johnny's heart skipped a beat. He felt strange, his hands going kind of numb and his head felt floaty. He leaned over, giving the guy a hard stare. "What did you say?"

"I said, I think I could handle this in the future. If only I could swing first class all the time."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. I know what you mean."

Johnny wondered why he had heard the guy say something different at first. He must be overworked, and in need of a vacation. Good thing he was off to do just that. He thought he was going on vacation. That made the most sense. He didn't remember a conference or anything, and Roy would likely be with him if that were the case. He frowned and glanced down at himself. He was wearing jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. Vacation it was, but he didn't remember where he was going. That … wasn't right. He must be going somewhere tropical.

The man tipped his glass in the air, a silent toast. "The drinks definitely help. Name's Darrin."

"John," Johnny said.

"Nice to meet you. You off on business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure, I think."

"You think," Darrin said. "How can you not know?"

That was a valid question Johnny didn't have a good answer for. He lifted his own nearly empty glass and tipped it back at Darrin.

"I guess I'm a nervous flier too," he said.

It was probably a good idea for him to lay off the alcohol. Just because something was free didn't mean he had to partake. He was more of a beer guy. Beer and first class didn't seem to mix. Johnny and booze didn't seem to mix, which was probably why he couldn't seem to get his head on straight. He'd only had one drink and already he didn't know where he was going.

"Would you like a blanket?" Samantha said, reappearing by his seat. "I don't like the looks of his blood pressure."

"Beg pardon?"

"We're about to shut the doors." Samantha smiled and wrinkled her nose. "Sometimes people don't like the change in cabin pressure."

"Right. Sure, I'll take a blanket."

John handed Samantha his emptied glass in exchange for the blanket. There did seem to be a slight chill in the air. It could be the power of suggestion, but he draped the blanket over his shoulders anyway. Johnny shivered and sank into the seat. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly very sleepy. He closed his eyes and drifted into a twilight state, neither asleep nor awake. The slight hum from the air vents and strong whine from the airplane engine lulled him, and it was only faintly that he heard a male voice announcing their departure. Everything went hazy.

"He's tougher than he looks," Samantha said, loud, like she stood over him. "He'll pull through."

"I don't know this time. It took a long time to find all the splinters," Darrin said. "I don't like to keep them on the pump for more than six hours."

He didn't know what they meant, or whom they were talking about. Johnny opened his eyes and looked toward the somewhat inebriated businessman. Darrin was zonked out, his hands flopped in his lap, his whole body slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position. Samantha was nowhere in sight. Johnny had to have been mistaken. The words he'd thought he heard were, again, something he could have heard at work, had only happened in his head and proof he needed this vacation. He rubbed a hand down his face and stretched. He saw clouds outside. He'd slept through takeoff. That seemed strange, but not completely out of the question. Like he'd said, he was more of a beer guy than a hard drinker.

The scent of food cooking filled the air. His stomach growled. Other bodily functions made themselves known soon thereafter. Johnny unbuckled and slid from his seat, knees popping and a dull ache spreading across the right side of his chest. He rubbed at it absently, figuring he must have been leaning funny, like Darrin. Someone should nudge that guy awake, before he ended up with the same aches and pains. On the other hand, he remembered Darrin saying how nervous he was for this flight, so sleep might be the best thing for him. Definitely better than drinking himself deeper into a stupor.

After Johnny relieved himself, he paced the aisle a few times. Another part of why he hated flying was being confined for so long and it turned out that having a nicer seat didn't alleviate his need to move. His stomach was the true driving force, though, not his legs. It led him to the galley, where he found Samantha prepping the meal cart. Another stewardess he hadn't seen before was busy back there as well, but he couldn't see her face. She was there, but not there. He couldn't recall seeing anyone but Samantha and Darrin clearly this whole time, not even just now, walking past the other passengers. He was sure the other seats were filled.

"Oh, you're up." Samantha smiled. She smiled an awful lot. "I thought you were going to sleep right through dinner."

"If you knew me, you'd know how impossible that would be," Johnny said, laughing. To emphasize, his stomach growled.

"You just have to hold on, a little while longer," she said, losing her smile in favor of an intense look that seemed out of place on her friendly face. "You have a lot of people counting on you, not the least of which are Chris and Jen."

Johnny blinked. "Huh?"

"I said you should get back to your seat. I'll be there before you can count to ten." Samantha ran her hand over the top of the cart, as if doing a spell or something. She was just counting butters. "I have to melt the butter for the lobster."

He couldn't blame being overworked or tipsy on his misinterpretation of what people were saying to him. It had happened too many times. It was something else. Johnny must be going crazy. He couldn't come up with any other reasonable explanation. He managed to make it back to his seat, where he buckled in and then fidgeted. If he were going on vacation, then he'd know where. If he wasn't going on vacation, then where was this plane taking him? Direct flight to crazy? Roy always said he was insane. His paramedic pin scratched into his chest. Johnny looked down, surprised to see he was wearing his uniform. He'd been in vacation clothes before, or he thought he had been; he wouldn't fly in uniform. He wouldn't wear his uniform anywhere but at work. This was making less and less sense. He didn't like it.

"Okay, steak and lobster for the handsome gentleman in 3B," Samantha said. She paused when he didn't put his tray down, tilting her head to the side. "What's wrong? You look upset. We can't have that."

"Samantha, I want you to listen to me, because I am very serious," Johnny said, no longer interested in flirting. He was too busy feeling trapped, suddenly overly warm. He couldn't catch his breath. "I need you to tell me where we're going."

"Oh, John. Don't fret." She frowned, set the serving dishes down and slipped into the empty seat next to him. She took his hand. "I think you already know."

"If I knew," Johnny said, irritated by her response, "I wouldn't be asking."

Behind them, a small child fussed and chattered away. Johnny turned his head. He didn't recall there being a kid in first class before. Then again, he reminded himself, he couldn't really remember seeing anyone. He couldn't see anything now but the headrest and with Samantha still grasping onto his hand, he wasn't able to move freely. Her hand squeezed his, her thumb running across the top of his hand. He was sure it was intended to be a comforting gesture, but it only freaked him out.

"You are the one who decides where to go, Johnny. You booked the ticket."

"But I don't remember booking any ticket," Johnny insisted. "I don't remember packing. I don't remember boarding. I don't remember any of this. Some … something's not right."

The child started crying. It bothered Johnny more than it should, his emotions cracking. He wanted to tell the parents to keep the kid quiet. He tried to jerk his hand free, couldn't at first but after a moment Samantha released him.

"It's always sad when children are on these flights," Samantha said. "I wish it didn't ever happen."

Johnny narrowed his eyes. He twisted in the seat and half-stood, hitting his head on the overhead compartment. It stung, but mostly aggravated him. He fixed his eyes on the source of the bothersome noise. The child was nothing more than a baby, really, and she was seated alone. Her blonde hair was wet and limp. The whole seat she was in was sodden, he realized. Her chubby cheeks were vaguely purple. Her lips were blue. Johnny gasped. He knew her. He'd seen her before. When she saw him peering at her, the child stopped crying. She smiled at him and said something he might have been able to hear if his ears weren't buzzing. He didn't understand, or maybe he didn't want to.

"Sometimes it takes a few days for the parents to be okay with letting the little ones fly alone," Samantha said.

"Melissa Flinn." Johnny felt ill. "She … how? What is happening here?"

"I think you know that too." Samantha took his hand again, guided him back into his seat.

He couldn't be dead, but Melissa Flinn was. So if she was here and he was also here, then that meant he was dead. Johnny was hot and cold at the same time. Terrified and calm.

"Melissa is already going where she needs to. There's no need to alter her flight. Are you ready to settle on your destination?"

"I have a choice?"

"You do. Not everyone does, of course. Sweet baby Melissa didn't." Samantha studied his face. "But you've still got time. You just have to know what you want."

He pictured his parents and sister. He thought of Roy and his family, and the rest of the guys at 51. He saw a young woman with wild hair and eyes, a violent, desperate, angry sadness about her. He saw Melissa Flinn's mother and sister and, though he'd never seen the guy, her father. But Johnny also imagined people he hadn't met, people he might be able to help. He thought of his life, how much he still could accomplish in general.

"Then I don't want to be dead," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm not ready."

No answer came. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids refused to twitch. Johnny started to feel funny. His arms and legs didn't feel like they were quite attached, numb. Cool, pressurized air blew into his nostrils and he thought he heard different sounds, not airplane engines. Different, but familiar. Samantha had his hand. He turned his head to look at her, but he couldn't seem to control his muscles. Somehow his seat had reclined fully. Instead of steak and lobster and rich, melted butter, Johnny smelled rubber and disinfectant.

"I think he's coming out of it," a voice said, male.

The hand which held his was big and rough and suddenly felt strange. The hand belonged to the voice, but Johnny didn't know why some guy was holding his hand and he wasn't sure whose hand he thought it should be instead. Someone. Perfect smile. Nice legs. He also didn't know why he had no inclination to pull from the strange touch. Even if he had wanted to, he was too weak to try. His head was foggy.

"Johnny?"

That was Roy. Roy was in his bedroom, but that wasn't right. Maybe they were at the station. But he didn't know why Roy was holding his hand. Johnny tried again to open his eyes, managed only a crack. Bright light, two vague darkish blobs.

"Hey," Roy said. He was the blob on the right. "You're going to be okay now. Welcome back."

Back? Johnny didn't remember going anywhere, and he didn't feel okay. He felt awful, like someone was sitting on his chest. Might need a vacation. At the very least, a nap.

"I didn't wanna," Johnny mumbled, not sure what he meant. Roy would know. Roy always knew. "It's too hot in here."

In his own ears it sounded like he had a hand clamped over his mouth, completely unintelligible. He didn't have the energy to try again. He closed his eyes. He was too tired. He thought there was probably a reason Roy wanted him to stay awake, but he couldn't. With a vague sense of déjà vu, he mentally promised that he'd try to stay awake tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: I'm officially on holiday (in airport right now), but I won't forget this story, or you all. But if I go silent with review responses, that is why!_

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Ten**

The sharp aroma of fresh coffee mixed with acrid cigarette smoke pulled Roy awake. There was a blanket covering him, whatever he was lying on was not intended for long-term use as a bed. It was all very familiar. He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling of the staff lounge in Rampart's emergency department for one blink, two. They'd let him fall asleep. Judging from the crick in his neck, he'd been out for quite some time. Irrational anger coursed through him. He sat up, too abruptly, and was reminded of his pounding head. Sleep hadn't cured it. His good eye was bleary. He blinked a few more times, hoping that if he could clear his sight he could clear his muzzy brain.

When his vision cleared, Roy saw it was Dixie in the room with him. She sat at the table, leaning her forehead against the butt of her left hand. Her right hand held a half-smoked cigarette over an ashtray, the smoke trailing up and wafting toward him. She looked upset. His anger dissolved into the fear that he'd been right; Johnny hadn't made it through surgery. While Roy had been taking a nap.

"Dix," he said, voice craggy from sleep and the fact his heart felt like it was stuck in his throat.

She startled, glancing at him with wide eyes. Her expression softened almost immediately into something Roy was too busy panicking to see as anything but confirmation and pity. Oh no, no. Expecting it did nothing to make this any better.

"Oh," Dixie said. "I was going to wake you in a few minutes."

"You let me sleep."

It wasn't what he wanted to say or what should have come out. _Johnny_. That was all he was really thinking. Roy stood. His whole body was stiff, residual effects from the attack and the surges of adrenaline and who knew what else.

"Yes, we did, and I want no lecture from you, Roy DeSoto. You were clearly upset and in pain. You needed the relief _and_ the rest." Dixie put out her cigarette and gestured to the coffee machine. "I just made a fresh pot. You look a little groggy and it's probably okay for you to have some."

Roy had no patience for small talk. He didn't want to skirt around the issue. He looked at his watch, appalled to see it was half past six. Worse, he couldn't remember what time it had been when he'd spoken with Frobisher, the police detective who was looking into the attack, and Cap. He only remembered how difficult it had been to give only the facts, not color the story with his emotions. He was pretty sure it had still been the middle of the night when he'd finished, and Cap and the guys wouldn't have been able to stay long. If they weren't here now, then he'd probably been out for hours, at the very least two. Likely more, if he understood Dixie to mean they'd given him something. God, he couldn't remember them doing that.

"I don't want any coffee. I want to know." Roy exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Dixie, I need to know. Is Johnny … is he…?"

"Oh, Roy. I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head.

He shut his good eye, shuffled backward until his legs hit the edge of the sofa. Roy didn't even try to keep himself from collapsing onto it. The sound of the ocean roaring in his ears blocked out anything else Dixie was saying, if she was still talking. He didn't much care. He felt pressure on his shoulder, the sofa dipped next to him. He opened his eye when something was pressed into his hand. Glass of water. He took a sip, an automatic reaction. It did nothing to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth.

"Roy, hey," Dixie said, rubbing his shoulder. "Your partner will be fine. You know Johnny – he's a fighter. He's got a lot going for him. I'm sure they'll be finished with surgery soon and you'll see. He'll be all right."

What? Roy stared at Dixie dumbly. Then it sank in. If Johnny had died, they would have woken him right away. The rest of the guys would have come back. And Dixie McCall would have told him instantly, not gone on about coffee. He wasn't firing on all cylinders yet, hadn't been since that girl had stuck a damned broken-off chair leg into his partner.

"Finished with surgery," he said. He had to be sure. "He's not…"

"No, no." Dixie frowned. "That should have been the first thing out of my mouth. I didn't mean to make you think Johnny wasn't okay."

She appeared exhausted. She always looked so pulled-together and calm, so Roy knew by the unruly strands of hair and the dark circles under her eyes that she had probably hit a wall. The same wall he would have hit himself if he'd been awake all this time – had hit earlier, actually, only in his case it was literal. He gave her a smile he could tell was feeble, an attempt to let her know he didn't hold it against her. He didn't, but the fact remained he had nearly lost ten years of his life just then.

"How long was I out?"

"Five hours, give or take."

"Five hours," he said.

Suddenly, it seemed, all he could do was parrot. Five hours asleep meant they didn't think he had a concussion. It also meant Johnny had been under for longer than that. It wasn't unexpected. Roy was no surgeon, but he knew it couldn't be a simple procedure, removing a sharp implement in such a precarious location. It wasn't one hundred percent good news, even if it meant Johnny was still hanging on. A long surgery might mean complications.

"Which you know we wouldn't have let happen if we thought it was absolutely essential for you to be awake while that partner of yours was being taken care of. Better that you're rested and there for him when he's in recovery, right?"

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose, unwittingly aggravating his own injury; the bruising probably looked worse than it felt, and it didn't tickle. It must have spread across more of his face. He hadn't looked at it himself to know. It wasn't important how bad he looked or felt, he'd gotten off easy. He was the lucky one.

"I get it," he said, tired despite the hours of medicated, thankfully dreamless sleep. "I don't have to like it, but I get why you did it."

Truthfully, Roy was surprised to learn he wasn't concussed, and a little embarrassed that meant his bouts of passing out and puking had been more of an emotional response than anything. He knew that of all the people in his life he shouldn't be humiliated about doing that kind of stuff in front of, Dixie was on a short list. But none of that mattered. Now that he was up, his brain wanted to start the loop of tonight … last night's horrible events all over again. He needed better images to supplant those. He needed to see his partner.

"What do you say we take this show upstairs, though?" Dixie said. "I expect it won't be much longer."

He nodded. His stomach unsettled by the fear that would not relent until he saw with his own eyes that Johnny was okay, Roy stood. He wanted that feeling gone. Almost immediately after they exited the lounge, he noticed people staring. He tried to ignore it, failing on every level. He knew the bandage on his face didn't cover all of the bruising, but when he glanced down at the floor he also caught a glimpse of his shirt and understood what they were really looking at. His uniform was splattered with blood. Mostly his own. Some of Johnny's. It was some sort of badge he never wanted to earn.

"Captain Stanley said he'd bring your civilian clothes when the rest of your guys get off shift," Dixie said, steering Roy to the elevator. "He figured even if you weren't admitted, you'd stick around. But if you want, I can get you something else to wear."

"No, it's okay," Roy said. He straightened his shoulders and looked the latest gawker in the eye.

They got in the same elevator in which he'd last seen Johnny, certain it was for the last time. Johnny was holding on, and it was about time Roy pulled himself together and started hoping for the best. He owed his partner at least that much, to not be falling apart and ready to accept the worst. Fatalism was the antithesis to Johnny's philosophy of life. Perhaps Roy should try out the John Gage motto, even if that entailed, at its heart, basic insanity. He smiled. Then frowned. Basic insanity was what had gotten Johnny almost killed.

The post-op waiting area was empty. While Dixie perched on the edge of a chair, Roy paced. He didn't want to take the risk of falling asleep again. It took roughly ten minutes of pacing for him to realize that they'd been right to knock him out. If he'd spent hours like this, he really would have driven himself toward a kind of crazy that had nothing to do with Johnny's somewhat quirky joie de vivre.

"Roy, I wish you would sit," Dixie said.

"I'm sorry." Roy did stop moving for a moment, staring at the open doorway. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair. "I can't believe this happened."

"None of us can, but it won't do any good to wear yourself out."

"I only got up from nearly a full night's sleep a few minutes ago," Roy said, grouchy. Not at her or anyone, but the situation in general. "A little pacing isn't going to wear me out."

"Well, it's exhausting me," she said. "So take it easy, huh?"

"Dix, I did nothing to help my partner. I just watched it happen." Roy swallowed. "If he's not … he has to be –"

The appearance in the doorway of someone clad in green surgical scrubs was so sudden, Roy actually jerked in surprise. He didn't recognize the man, but then a familiar person stepped up next to him. Doctor Kelly Brackett looked at Roy with fatigued but otherwise unreadable eyes.

"I thought I'd find you here," Brackett said. If anything, tiredness made his voice deeper, rougher. He turned to the other man. "Brent, I got it."

"Good work in there, Kel," the other doctor said. "Always a pleasure."

With a nod, the doctor left. Roy stared at Brackett.

"Why don't you have a seat and I'll go over how the surgery went."

"Just tell me," Roy said.

Brackett pursed his lips, eyes narrowing as he took in Roy's appearance. After a minute appraisal, he nodded once.

"First let me say that Johnny pulled through. We finished up about half an hour ago. It was a bit tricky for awhile there, but I want you to know that, barring complications, I think he's going to be okay, Roy."

And, oddly, Roy suddenly had to sit. Good news was supposed to give him strength, yet it did the same thing as bad. Dixie's hand on his arm was warm, comforting.

"He's a very lucky man," Brackett continued. "If I believed in them, I'd call it a miracle. There is some damage to the lung due to obvious movement before the … weapon was immobilized, and with what happened downstairs before we got him up here."

"Damage," Roy whispered.

"Nothing unfixable. The body is a remarkable machine." Brackett eased into a chair perpendicular from the one Roy sat in. "There were tears above and beyond the initial point of impact, some nicks from the wood breaking apart. The sharp end was very jagged. The girl must have broken it off herself before sta, uh, before she used it. The slivers were the most time consuming to clean up. The main part of the stake was nudged against Johnny's right atrium, but I'm confident that only happened during the attack in the emergency room. It did not at any point pierce the muscle. It did cause a great many problems, mind you, and we'll have to keep a close eye on his heart for at least the next week."

Roy rubbed a hand across his mouth, glanced bleakly at Dixie and then at his shoes. The more Brackett talked, the more Roy wasn't sure he believed Johnny was really going to be okay. The words didn't mean anything to him. Well, they did, but mostly they made him imagine wood splintering apart in Johnny's chest, and internal bleeding, and worse. He only needed to see Johnny to know for sure he was going to be all right.

"You can see him if you'd like," Brackett said, as if reading his mind. "He'll be out of it for awhile, but I wouldn't be at all shocked if he were already starting to come out of anesthesia. We'll go over the details of his recovery later."

"Thanks, Doc," was all Roy said.

"I'll call the station," Dixie said as they all rose. "They'll want to know."

Roy nodded and grasped her hand, giving it a squeeze. In return, he got a smile and a head tilted toward surgical step-down. He knew she probably wanted to visit Johnny herself and appreciated that she would call Cap and the guys for him instead.

Brackett led the way toward Johnny's unit, Roy's anxiousness not abating. When he caught his first look at his partner, it eased somewhat. He had thought maybe, in an illogical part of his brain, that he'd still see the damned busted-off chair leg sticking out of Johnny's chest. The logical part of his brain knew he was stupid for thinking it, and was proven right. Johnny looked too still and pale, but better. Not at death's door any longer. Where the hunk of wood had been there was a thick bandage. Roy let out a loud breath and stepped closer to the bed. He'd worry later about the embarrassment of taking his partner's hand in his. It was cool. Johnny's head moved almost right away, the kind of semi-frightening uncoordinated efforts heavy sedation effected.

"I think he's coming out of it," Roy said.

"Yes, it would seem so."

"Johnny?"

Johnny was restless, his movements minimal. Roy watched, tightened the hold he had on his partner's hand. Then he saw Johnny's eyes open a crack; it didn't look like he was registering anything yet. That was okay. He was alive, when Roy had thought for sure that was impossible. He didn't know what to say. There were too many things.

"Hey," he said after a moment. "You're going to be okay now. Welcome back."

Roy didn't even know what that meant. More, he hated how inadequate and trite it sounded. Johnny wrinkled his eyebrows and mumbled something. It was gibberish. Nonsensical, beautiful gibberish. Roy smiled and leaned in. Johnny's eyes started closing again.

"Stay awake for a while, huh?"

Of course, Roy was asking more for himself than anything. He knew it was too much to expect, but he was still disappointed when Johnny's face smoothed into true sleep. He glanced at Doctor Brackett, whose mouth twitched. Roy knew what was coming before it did.

"Like I said, he might be out for quite some time, Roy." Brackett checked the monitors hooked up to Johnny. "We'll keep an eye on him, while you get some rest yourself."

He didn't protest. He wanted to, but at the same time he was already so relieved he thought he might be able to relax without medication. Roy patted Johnny's hand, kept his own atop his partner's. He didn't leave, though. After so much time with fear worrying a hole in his gut, he needed at least another minute or two. Or fifteen. He wanted to make sure this wasn't an illusion and that Johnny would keep breathing steadily.

Brackett seemed to understand, but he didn't leave either. He lingered in the background, checking the equipment and monitoring bodily functions that weren't pleasant to think about but important. After a few minutes, he clasped Roy on the shoulder.

"Roy," Brackett said.

This time Roy nodded. Johnny's breath sounds were steady. His cheeks were starting to pinken. He was going to be all right. Roy believed that, but he didn't know if the confused post-anesthesia movements and mutterings were going to be enough for him to completely and finally stop being afraid. He'd already known anything could happen, to anyone at anytime. Ton … last night epitomized that, created his very own horror movie. Even now, if he were going to be honest, he half expected the girl to come out of nowhere. He didn't want to leave Johnny alone, just in case. But he knew he had to. He knew Cat Drewes must be in the psych ward by now. He left Johnny's side, walked back to the waiting area. He wasn't sure how he was going to get home. Home. Oh, no. He hadn't even remembered to call Joanne, and he really wanted to talk to her all of a sudden.

Someone gasped, a loud, almost harsh sound. Roy's head snapped up, and to his confusion and relief, saw it was Joanne. How? It took a second, then he realized department protocol dictated families be contacted with incidents resulting in injury. He should have done it himself, anyway. He had a brief stab of guilt for not thinking of his wife, or Johnny's family back east.

"Oh, your _face_," Joanne said, rushing to his side. She wrapped her arms around him.

"I'm okay," Roy murmured. He pulled her back enough to kiss her on the forehead, the lips.

"They said you were all right. I wasn't sure. I'm never sure what to believe. I wanted to come right away, but I knew that the kids would be upset to wake up with someone else there and not me." When Joanne was stressed or upset or excited, she sometimes needed a reminder to breathe. Like Johnny. "So I had to wait until morning, when I could get someone to sit with the kids and see Chris off to school."

The kids. It was Halloween day, Roy thought dully, and Johnny would not be sitting in any pumpkin patches. He knew Jenny wouldn't understand why, but he didn't feel much like doing that himself.

"I'm fine. It only looks bad."

Joanne took his hand, pulled him to the small sofa in the waiting room. They sat together, hands entwined. She studied his face.

Roy knew what she was doing and what she'd find. They'd known each other most of their lives, after all. One minute was all it would take for her to know, without being told, that he was lying about being okay, and she'd know where he was emotionally. Maybe she wouldn't know how he'd gotten there, but she'd know. She was at the very top of that short list of people he shouldn't be embarrassed to show his true feelings in front of. He wanted nothing more than to hug her until those feelings went away.

"Tell me," Joanne said.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Hi to you all from hotel. Severe jetlag. _

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Eleven**

Waking up was hard to do.

His limbs felt weighted and his whole body heavy, yet his head felt light, strange. Johnny knew what it meant. He'd been there before. Of course, if he hadn't known from his own body's cues, the steady beat of a heart monitor and whir of other machines he could name if he could only open his eyes and view them would have told him he was at Rampart. He was at Rampart for some reason he couldn't recall. And he hurt. Everywhere, but there was a concentrated area on the right side of his chest where the pain was deep, an ache that had had time to settle in. He frowned. It was like those big, ugly bruises discovered after the fact, with no clue as to how they happened. Something that painful should be easy to remember.

The problem was, any number of things could have happened. Johnny knew he wasn't the world's most graceful person. He could have fallen down stairs, tripped into a door, or another one of any number of ridiculous things a normal person wouldn't end up in the hospital for. Well, he was a normal person, and his klutziness hadn't really hurt him yet. But his job, though. His job was high risk. He and Roy ran forward where many would run back. All of 'em did. There were too many options to list off on what could have happened at work. Roy. What if Roy had been hurt too?

That was enough to get his eyelids cooperating. And his heart beating faster.

The light was too bright. Johnny couldn't see what he wanted, namely any sign of Roy. He couldn't see much of anything except white ceiling. But, the more awake he became, the more he should have known to expect that. The sensation of waking up to brightness felt familiar, and he figured this wasn't the first try he'd had at it. Knowing that only increased his concern for Roy, because if he'd been out deep enough to waken in stages that meant his injury was pretty serious. If he'd been with Roy, at work, then his partner was probably hurt bad too. He'd know for sure if he could make someone see he was awake.

His first effort at speaking resulted in him sounding like he was trying to swallow his tongue. It was only then that he realized how sore his throat also was – after the pain in his chest, the throat was the most aggravated part of his body. Johnny cleared his sore throat, which only resulted in an odd clicking noise … and provoked some other sounds from nearby. Movement. A soft rustle of cloth and a footstep.

"Johnny?"

Thank goodness. Roy was okay. Normally that'd be a huge load off, but Johnny couldn't shake the feeling something moderately heavy was pressing into his chest. He lifted his head off the pillow and only made it a fraction of an inch. He was so weak it actually frightened him a bit. The fact that he had no recollection of what had landed him there suddenly caught up to him and had him mildly panicked. Just because a guy had a dangerous job where injuries were likely didn't make it any easier waking up clueless and in pain.

"You're okay," Roy said, somehow knowing exactly where Johnny's brain was spinning. "You're going to be all right."

Johnny might have had an easier time believing it if Roy hadn't appeared above him. Things were still hazy from the bright light and probably anesthesia or other medication, but he could see Roy. He saw an enormous white bandage on Roy's face and, surrounding it like an opening flower, a deep, purple bruise. A vivid ghost of an image superimposed over his partner's face, another view of Roy, vaguely familiar, blood streaking down his cheek, eyes wide. Johnny blinked. The image went away, but the feeling of fear remained.

"Yuh," he said.

"You were on the vent for a while. Throat must be sore."

Roy scooted out of his line of sight, coming back only a moment later. To Johnny's embarrassment, his partner slid a hand under the base of his skull and lifted, like he was a little kid with the flu, too weak to do it himself. He forgot the embarrassment when he figured out why Roy was coddling him. A straw poked at his lips. He latched on and took a sip. Roy let his head rest again, but he kept his hand on the back of Johnny's neck.

"Better?"

"You broke your face," Johnny whispered.

Roy laughed. "That's exactly what Jenny said to me." Then he frowned. "Except it scared her."

"Okay?"

"Only looks bad," Roy said, as if he'd had lots of practice saying it. As if it weren't completely true.

"What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

Johnny closed his eyes and tried to. He started drifting toward sleep, instead. He heard Roy's quiet voice drone on and he knew he was supposed to listen. Wanted to hear how he'd ended up flat on his back in a hospital bed. It wasn't his fault he couldn't seem to hold on to his initial burst of adrenaline and consciousness. Roy had such an even tone, sometimes it was impossible to stay focused when he felt good, let alone weak and sick. He was so tired, and Roy was okay. Most important thing. What about the rest of the guys? Johnny pretended to decide he wasn't ready to wake up quite yet, but really he had no say in it at all.

Déjà vu all over again.

He woke again because he was too warm, like he'd piled on three too many blankets at the start of the night and couldn't get out from under them now. Johnny fished around on the bed, trying to get some relief. None came. He was pretty sure something was wrong, but he didn't know what. He had a hard time drawing a full breath, heard himself wheezing. Not much. It didn't take much to make him panic. Something hot and itchy in his chest.

"His sats have dropped again, Doctor Brackett."

That would explain the breathing. Funny how knowing the lingo didn't make the experience any less disturbing. Johnny felt like he was drowning. When he was three, he and his sister were at a beach somewhere. He didn't know where. Cabin by a lake, maybe. He'd slipped on a rock and gone under. He didn't remember it truly, only pieces from stories his sister told of seeing him under water. She'd been fascinated by the movement of his hair, said it reminded her of dark seaweed. What he did remember was a sense of buoyancy and intense external pressure at the same time, even though he'd never been able to put a name to it until he was grown. Sometimes, during water rescues, that remembered sensation would spring to mind. The brain was weird.

"What is going on with you, Gage?" Brackett muttered. "I can't have you mucking up our repair work."

In a move that apparently surprised the doctor, if his facial expression was accurate, Johnny opened his eyes and gasped. He meant to say something, but nothing would come out.

"Well, hello."

Johnny blinked, as much of a demand for help as he could muster.

"Don't worry, Johnny, we'll get you sorted out and you'll be feeling much better soon." Brackett rested a hand on his shoulder, a rare exhibit of affection.

He didn't know what Brackett was talking about, but he believed it. Brackett was sometimes rough and angry-sounding, something that had at first really put Johnny off the guy. Underneath all that, though, was a great doctor. If anyone could help him breathe better…

"Ah, here we are. The tube's all twisted," Brackett growled. "Sandy, I want to know if it's faulty or if it's incompetence from someone on your staff."

"Yes, Doctor," Sandy said.

Sandy? Oh, not his Sandy. His Sandy! Guess he missed their date, or it had been so fantastic he couldn't remember it. Johnny really doubted that. He always remembered the fantastic ones. That meant he'd definitely missed it. He hoped she wasn't too mad. He bet she had looked great in her Halloween costume. He also bet some lucky guy had swooped right in, taken all of Johnny's hard work and run with it. Halloween, though. There was something else. A man in cobwebs. Apples. Bobbing for … baby, Melissa. A cat. Vampires. Roy's bleeding face. He remembered something, and now he wasn't sure he wanted that after all. He was too tired to try and sort through it now.

The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip, bodily tilted him onto his side. Pain, dulled only slightly by medication, ripped through him. He gasped, and that hurt too. So much. Too much. Brackett was supposed to help, only suddenly Johnny could breathe even less than before. That wasn't right or fair. Gray tinged the edges of his vision, then turned into a black tunnel.

"We're going to need a new tube and to run a new set of –"

Everything winked out.

The head of his bed was at a slight angle, which hinted at an improvement. Johnny was getting sick of waking up, though. It was exhausting. He supposed that was ironic in a way, but life in bits and pieces wasn't much of a life. His chest still hurt, but not as bad as it had the previous times he remembered waking. He heard a faint sound of fabric swishing and a dull, rhythmic thumping. He expected Roy, or maybe a nurse, but when he opened his eyes he found a woman in a wheelchair.

"Uh?" Johnny said.

The woman started as if he'd shouted. Her eyes were wide and familiar. Johnny didn't know her. He thought maybe he was supposed to, though.

"Oh," the woman said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Except Johnny thought maybe she had. He didn't know what he was thinking, his brain still sluggish from sleep. But perfect strangers didn't sit by bedsides of the injured without a reason. Actually, she looked unwell herself.

"It's okay. I think it's about time I woke up for real," Johnny said, throat froggy. "What're you in for?"

The woman cringed and looked away. She picked at the blanket tossed across her legs for a second, then took a deep breath and looked back at him. It was like she had to shore herself up.

"My name's Martha Drewes," she said, "My daughter, Cat, she's schizophrenic. She didn't mean to, but she hurt me."

Oh. Cat. That was … he knew that.

"She ran away from home, stopped taking her pills. When she's on her medication, she's such a sweet girl." Martha shuddered. "When she's not, she's different. Angry. Violent."

_Oh_. Johnny tried to stay calm, but his body betrayed him. He sucked in a breath, wincing at the pull of sore muscles in his chest. His palms felt sweaty, so he rubbed them against the rough blanket. Vampires. Roy's bleeding face. A scream and oh, now he got it. The Cat came back. He remembered how he knew this lady.

"She hurt you too. I thought you … I thought you should know she didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. I know she will be too, as soon as she's herself again."

Johnny's chest started hurting. He knew he was breathing too fast for the kind of injury he'd sustained. He knew his racing heart was not advisable, considering. Considering that someone had tried to stab him in the heart and only missed because she picked the wrong side of the chest. He knew lots of things about what was happening to him and what had happened already. He couldn't turn off the pictures in his head, couldn't control how fast they flashed in his head, some of them overlapping each other until he could no longer make sense of them. He could only feel them and that hurt no matter how many horrible things he saw at once.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Martha wailed.

Her cries preceded the increasing tempo of the monitor behind and to the right of Johnny. They mingled and mixed into an uncomfortable cacophony he couldn't take. Louder shouts, deeper tenor.

"Hey, you shouldn't be in here." Running footsteps, muffled but there. "I need some help."

Hands on his shoulders, strong and warm. Grounding. Johnny felt better, but the pain and rapid heartbeat didn't subside. Nothing and no one was that magic.

"Easy, Johnny," Roy said, squeezing his biceps. "You need to slow your breathing."

Johnny would find it a whole lot easier to do if it didn't feel like his heart was about to burst through his chest. Roy was right, he knew that. He stared at his partner's face, concentrating on his good eye. Not the one that was still swollen and ugly and purple. He gulped and flinched from the pain. Gulped. Flinched. He was afraid he'd never be able to stop gulping and flinching, which only made it worse. He knew it. He tried to make it stop.

"Roy?" Brackett.

Roy turned, spoke to the doctor while he kept tight hold on Johnny, "He had an unexpected visitor. The Drewes woman. What kind of security does this place have, anyway?"

Johnny squirmed and moaned. He wanted it to stop.

"I think he's with us this time." Roy peered at him. "And I am pretty sure he remembers how he got here."

"We need to get him calmed down, now," Brackett barked. "Sandy, I need ten CCs…"

"No," Johnny croaked, as surprised as anyone he managed it. Too many people talking around and about him. He was right there. "No."

"It's okay, Johnny," Roy said, the barest of trembles in his voice. "It'll help you."

His right arm was numb and useless, maybe immobilized, but with his left he reached and snaked up to grasp Roy's right forearm. He held on tightly. He didn't know what else to do to make Roy understand. He was okay. He'd be okay, he just needed … he clutched onto his partner. Roy had said it himself. Johnny was awake. He didn't want to sleep anymore, even if it meant he had to deal with the vicious puzzle of images in his head. He didn't have to do that alone.

"John, you're not getting enough oxygen. I don't feel we have a choice here," Brackett said.

Johnny shook his head, gulped and didn't flinch. He had to slow it down, that was all, stop panicking. He stared at Roy, who was so much the opposite of him in many ways. It was startling to see panic there in Roy's eye too, but behind that the calm was there as always. He smiled when Roy gave him a single nod.

"He's got it," Roy said so Johnny didn't have to. "He's handling it."

"Doctor, his sats _are_ improving."

God bless nurse Sandy, whoever she was. Johnny smiled and breathed, in and out. He realized after a moment Roy was doing the same, or maybe Roy had started it and Johnny naturally followed suit. The pain was still sharp, but lessening with each calming breath. He knew he wasn't going to be able to avoid being given something for long, but he'd settle for more than a few blurry minutes.

"Thanks," Johnny whispered.

Roy rubbed Johnny's shoulders awkwardly, then let his hands drop and stepped back. He gave Johnny a smile, though it was somewhat watery.

"Johnny, I need to check you out," Brackett said, pushing forward. "I'd prefer if Roy left the room, but will understand if you'd rather he stay."

"Stay."

He was dismayed to find his strength ebbing. He really wanted to talk to Roy, see if his partner could help him piece together what had happened, and what might be tricks his mind was playing. Johnny closed his eyes as Brackett poked around. This time when the memories flooded in, he was slightly more prepared. He heard the telltale increase in his heart rate and Brackett tsking. He'd dare anyone to not panic a little when watching an up close and personal replay of getting stabbed in the chest.

"Johnny, I know it probably doesn't feel like it, but you're doing remarkably well for this stage of recovery," Brackett said. "I'm not going to lie and say the elevated heart rate and setbacks in your sats aren't worrisome. After all you've been through, neither is unexpected. We have to work on a way to keep it in check."

"Doc, you try remembering someone stabbing you in the chest with a chair leg," Roy said, taking the words out of Johnny's thoughts and accentuating them with an angry snort. "I'll bet your heart would do more than race."

Calm, collected, sharp-tongued Roy DeSoto was Johnny's hero of the moment. Well, of more than the moment. Johnny wanted to laugh at the appalled look on Brackett's face, but he didn't have the energy or the appropriately safe oxygen levels. Been there, bought that T-shirt.

"That's a fair point." Brackett sighed. "I'm going to have to insist Johnny get some rest."

"Of course. But I'm not leaving."

Johnny watched Brackett step from his bedside and halt by Roy as he left the room. Words were exchanged, too hushed for him to hear. He didn't need to. He knew Brackett was telling Roy to monitor him, and to not stay long.

"What day is it?" Johnny asked when Roy came and sat in the chair by his bed. "How long?"

"It's Friday," Roy said as he poured a glass of water. "You've been in and out for a couple days."

There was more to it than that. Johnny could tell by the way Roy said it. He had a feeling he had way too much to catch up on in one sitting. He wanted to try. He took a sip of the water Roy held for him.

"Oh," he said.

"I brought you something." Roy pulled from his pocket a small plastic Parkay tub, giving it a little, rattling shake before putting it in Johnny's left hand. "You can't have any yet, but Jenny wanted you to have them. She didn't want you to think she forgot about you."

Johnny popped the lid with his thumb, accidentally scattered a few of the container's contents on the bedspread. He laughed, once, and then settled for a smile when the monitors squawked warnings.

"Pumpkin seeds," he said.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: This is the real last chapter. Happy Halloween! Thank y'all again, and I will return messages - I swear.  
_

**The Cat Came Back  
Chapter Twelve**_  
_

As Roy approached Johnny's room, the sound of maracas greeted him. He came in expecting any number of things when visiting his partner, from unanticipated catastrophic news to a gaggle of nurses fawning all over the guy. But what he had never anticipated he should expect was … maracas. He shrugged. He'd believe almost anything these days. If Johnny wanted to celebrate being a medical miracle by playing _Day-O_ (badly) with maracas, then more power to him. Right now, his partner's eccentricities were more welcome than annoying. He was glad Johnny was around to be strange.

"Chet, will you give me those back?" Johnny's voice, still raspy from the vent tube, floated out of the room. "C'mon, man."

Ah. Chet.

"I don't know why you can't share 'em. You can't even eat them right now anyway."

"Because they're mine, Kelly. I'm savin' them for when I can."

"You've got a real problem, Gage," Chet said.

"His problem is _you_," Mike Stoker said, making his contribution a pointed statement of fact.

"Yeah, Chet, give Johnny a break." Marco this time. "He's still not looking so hot. You need to lay off."

Roy turned into the room in time to see Johnny lunging for the Parkay dish of pumpkin seeds Chet was holding and shaking aloft, out of reach. With a pit in his stomach, he dashed to stop it. Like before, with the girl, Roy couldn't do anything but watch. Johnny had made great strides in the last few days, but sudden movements like that were a very bad idea. Roy stretched his arms out, even though he knew he couldn't stop Johnny from moving. The situation was different, but in Roy's head, way too much the same.

Chet was a prankster and sometimes a jerk, but he wasn't cruel or stupid. He dropped the pumpkin seeds before Johnny got too far off the bed, with a muttered, "Jeez, Gage, don't do that. I was gonna give them back."

Unable to stop his forward momentum, Roy became keenly aware of his overly dramatic entrance as his shift mates all turned to look at him rushing the bed like a defensive end aiming for the quarterback. Marco and Mike did their best to ignore it and Chet had the decency to look ashamed of what he'd almost let happen. Johnny, meanwhile, pressed a hand to his chest and tried to pretend he was fine. Roy mustered a reasonable return to normal walking speed, scowling at Chet as he elbowed the guy out of the way to stand next to the bed.

"Hey, Roy," Mike said, averting his gaze to the TV bolted to the wall. "Welcome to the party."

"Some party. I was taking a nap when Chester here…" Johnny paused to catch his breath with a wheeze. "…woke me up. I was dreaming of Jeannie."

"Original, Gage," Chet said.

The TV, very coincidentally Roy was sure, began playing the end credits to _I Dream of Jeannie_ and then rolled right into the opening of _Bewitched_. Beat soap operas, he supposed. He rolled his eyes.

"It was a far cry better than looking at your ugly mug, Kelly," Johnny pointed at Chet and gasped again. "I'll tell you that much."

"Hey, no need to be rude. I'll have you know many people find me adorable."

"Your … mother doesn't count as many."

Roy never imagined he'd think it, but the verbal fencing match made him feel a bit better about Johnny's state of health. He didn't let it stop him from hovering and listening for every hitching breath of Johnny's. Sue him, he was still a bit on edge. He knew he was a nightmare to work with for his substitute partners, more snappish than usual with them. They'd have to cope, because Roy probably wouldn't be himself until Johnny was declared fit for duty. Of course, Johnny had to get out of the hospital first. Right now, that meant surviving a visit from Chet Kelly. Roy noted Johnny getting more worked up and cleared his throat. Loudly enough even Chet couldn't miss the cue.

"Quit yapping, Gage," Chet said absently, waving a hand in Johnny's face. "I can't hear the show."

"Unbelievable," Johnny said quietly to Roy. He still rubbed at his chest like it ached. It had to. "They came all this way to watch TV."

Johnny apparently missed how all three of their crewmates spent more time shooting him surreptitious glances than they did watching the antics on the television. In fact, Roy noticed, the only one staring at the screen was Johnny himself and he had a peculiar expression on his face.

"Hey." Roy shook Johnny's shoulder. "You need me to get someone for you?"

"Huh?"

"You look pale," Roy said.

"No, I'm okay. Thanks, Roy," Johnny said. He let out a long breath as he squinted at the TV. "I just … I dunno, something about … nah, it's nothing."

Roy doubted that. With Johnny, even nothing was something. He had, however, learned early on in his partnership with Johnny when to push and when to let it go. He spent ninety-nine percent of his time letting things go. One of them had to stay sane. And as long as Johnny didn't keel over, he wasn't going to worry. Much. A setback would mean he'd have a couple unhappy small people to deal with in a few minutes, which was a pretty terrifying thought in its own right.

The room grew quiet as the guys settled in to not watch the sitcom. Johnny remained oblivious, missing it when Marco slid the food tray closer so Johnny could reach his water or Mike tucked his foot under the blankets or Chet eyed the monitors standing on either side of the bed, which loomed like bodyguards just waiting to leap into action if needed. Roy doubted any of his friends noticed they were doing these things themselves. They were lucky. He knew the kind of comfortable, easy friendship the guys on Station 51's A-shift had wasn't a guarantee. In his experience, it wasn't even the norm. These guys were his family away from family, the brothers he never had. He gave a sidelong look at Johnny, who still looked both peaked and like he was mentally worrying at something.

"You need to rest," Roy said quietly.

Johnny blinked slowly, tore his eyes away from watching Elizabeth Montgomery as if she were about to pop out of the screen.

"Nah, I'm okay." Johnny put a hand on his chest, then jerked it back down as he realized what he was doing. "I'm doin' all right. I just shouldn't have moved like that, before."

Roy stepped back, leaned against the other, empty bed in Johnny's room, and crossed his arms. He wasn't going to start an argument, but he was starting to regret getting sucked into his family's plan. Johnny didn't look up for it, thanks to Chet's shenanigans. A few minutes of downtime might make a world of difference.

After a moment, Mike stood up and announced, "Time to go, guys. Marco, Chet."

When Mike Stoker spoke, people listened. Roy thought Marco, at least, had already been on the same page. He was on his feet before Mike finished talking, and tugging on a befuddled Chet's shirtsleeve. And Chet didn't bellyache about it.

"Take it easy, Gage."

"Feel better, Johnny."

Mike grabbed Johnny's foot through the sheets and bedspread, gave it a hearty shake as his farewell. Then all three stooges shuffled out of the room, Chet and Marco squabbling about something inane.

"It's been good," Johnny said after the room cleared, wistful, "y'know, having people here. Cap stopped by earlier."

"You talk to your folks lately?"

"Yeah, my mom has called every day since, well, since I've been well enough to have a phone in my room." Johnny half-smiled. "They're too far away to come every time something might happen to me."

Johnny had never spoken about it with him directly, but Cap had told Roy that his partner's instructions were clear: his parents weren't to be contacted right away in the case of a serious injury, only if it was so bad it looked like he wouldn't make it. This incident had qualified for a few scary hours there, op and post-op. Roy understood where his partner was coming from. There was no real sense in alarming loved ones so geographically distant. He knew what a rough time of it Joanne and his parents and, to some sheltered extent, his kids had when he came home a little singed and battered around the edges. They were right here. Johnny's folks, well, it seemed natural they'd worry even more, being so far away. He knew as well as anyone how imagining the worst felt.

"I know," Roy said.

"It was great of the guys to come visit."

But not the same as real family. Someday Roy would like to meet the people responsible for unleashing Johnny Gage on the world. Just not if that meant his partner was … no, it would be under happy circumstances. A holiday, a birthday. Something to do with celebrating.

"You've got more flowers."

"Oh, yeah. Those are from Mrs. Drewes. She stopped by the other day. She's a real nice lady."

Roy bristled at that. Nice lady or not, he wasn't ready to let go of the fact the woman had virtually broken into Johnny's room when his condition was still too tenuous to handle the stress. He held no ill will for what her daughter did – Cat was unwell. He did not like the thought of another unannounced visit.

"I feel bad for her," Johnny continued. He looked troubled for a moment, almost the same expression on his face as he'd had earlier, staring at the television. "You know, her daughter's still alive, except I can't help but think in a way Mrs. Drewes lost her just as much as the Flinn family lost their baby. Even if Cat gets help and sticks with it, there's always going to be this … thing, now."

Johnny was always full of surprises. Most of them involved some level of eccentricity Roy sloughed off with a heavy sigh or maybe a shrug of the shoulders. And then sometimes Roy was genuinely surprised.

"I hadn't thought of it like that," Roy said. He couldn't separate the woman into a person with problems of her own yet. To him, she was someone who'd hurt his friend, even if unintentionally, like Cat.

"And I'll tell you something else." Johnny paused to suck in a breath, then another. Testing to see if he could, maybe. "I don't like to think what it must have been like for Cat. The way she was seeing the world, it had to be scary."

Roy's head spun. To be honest, he'd half expected Johnny to have some oddball theory about full moons and bad omens as to why he got hurt. He was actually talking sense, and that wasn't like him.

"Where did all this come from?"

"I've had a lot of time to think, cooped up in here."

In general, Roy considered himself a serious guy. When Johnny started getting an edge on him in that area, it felt like the world was tilting on its axis. More to the point, he couldn't have Johnny all broody and sensible. Maybe later, but not now.

"Well, I suppose if you're going to hurt yourself, it's good you're already in the hospital."

Johnny looked at him, eyes widening and then narrowing.

"Oh, ha ha," Johnny said. "You've been palling around Chet while I'm stuck in this bed? I thought we were friends."

"Speaking of being cooped up, what do you say about a road trip?" Roy asked, getting down to the business of his visit.

"Road trip?" Johnny sat up. "You mean … really?"

"We're not talking very far or for very long." Roy had to nip grand schemes in the bud. There'd be no gallivanting around the hospital. "But I cleared it."

"Roy, you're the best." Johnny threw the blankets back, revealing his knobby knees and a little bit more, accidentally. "I don't even care where we go, as long as I can get out of this room."

"We gotta get you some pants, Junior," Roy said, cringing.

"Right there." Johnny pointed. "In the thing. Next to the robe."

"Hey, take it slow," Roy cautioned, bolting forward as Johnny slid a leg off the bed. He should have known this would happen. Actually, he did know this would happen and had said so, but was outvoted. "It's not a race."

He waited for Johnny to stop moving, which was mostly in part due to the pain his partner would never admit, and then retrieved a set of pajamas and the robe from the little closet. For a minute, he and Johnny stared at the clothes, then at each other. They both knew Johnny couldn't get them on himself. They also both knew how uncomfortable it might be for Roy to help. Roy decided they'd have to get over it. Blushing and pretending he didn't know it, he just …gathered the pants and did it. They managed to get Johnny's legs in and get him sitting on the edge of the bed in a relatively fluid motion.

Johnny rested for a moment, a hand pressed against his chest, but he looked okay. It was too late, anyway. No turning back now that the seed had been planted. Roy patted Johnny on the shoulder, told him to sit tight and left the room to go get a wheelchair. When he returned, Johnny was still upright, a good sign. Roy thought he must really want out of this room.

"We're never mentioning what just happened here to anyone," Johnny said, tugging at the waistband of the pajamas as Roy helped him stand.

"Absolutely not," Roy agreed. "Wild horses."

Neither of them would mention that Roy had bundled Johnny in his robe without a second thought about what he was doing until he was cinching the belt, either.

"Uh." Johnny looked uncomfortable. "Thanks?"

"Sorry." Roy dropped his hands. "Habit. The kids, you know."

"Do I look like a kid to you?" Johnny asked, pouting.

"Well…" Roy helped his partner into the wheelchair, letting out an oof when Johnny slapped him in the stomach with the back of his hand. "Okay, you don't look like a kid. Much. You ready?"

"Man, am I. Thanks for this, Roy."

"You already said that. It's the least I can do."

Roy steered the wheelchair out the room. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said they couldn't go far. He hoped Johnny wouldn't be disappointed they were only going to the small visiting area down the hall. The second they rounded the corner, he knew he'd had nothing to worry about.

There were pumpkins everywhere. Joanne and her band of two little assistants had made quick work of the visiting area. It was fully decked out with streamers and fake, decorative leaves. They'd had help – Dixie and Brackett were tucked in a corner, looking innocent. His family stood in the middle of the room, one of them calm, one shifting about nervously or maybe out of embarrassment and the littlest one practically bouncing. Roy gave his wife a big smile. This was all incredibly hokey. He knew it and Joanne knew it, and truthfully he kind of liked it anyway.

"What is all this?" Johnny said.

Roy could hear the smile in Johnny's voice. His partner would never let on if he thought it was hokey too, or that he loved it anyway. He could count on Johnny; he knew what effect his kids had on the guy.

"Suprise!" Jenny said. She clapped and bounded forward, stopping just short of the wheelchair. "It's a pumkin patch, even though it's Nobember now."

Chris joined his sister, with a quiet, "Hi, Johnny. I'm glad you're feeling better."

Johnny ruffled Chris's hair and tugged at Jenny's ponytail. He looked up at Roy, seeming comfortable but out of his element at the same time.

"Jenny felt bad her daddy and you had to miss Halloween. She and Chris came up with this idea together," Joanne explained.

"We taked pictures and we got them now to show you an' it'll be like you were _right there_," Jenny said.

"Almost," Chris said. "But not really."

Chris had been more aware of how serious Johnny was hurt and what the bruises on Roy's face had meant than Jenny. He was getting old enough now to understand, and it was showing in how he was reacting. Roy watched his son eye Johnny, cautious because he and Joanne were, and probably because he had never seen anyone in a wheelchair before.

"Wow, that's real nice," Johnny said.

"You like it?" Jenny grabbed his hands, jostling the wheelchair.

"I sure do." It was the only answer. Johnny smiled at Joanne. "And I like the pumpkin seeds too."

"I knew you would," Jenny said. "See, told you, Chris."

Johnny laughed, but Roy could tell he was already tiring. Soon it would be a return to Johnny's naptimes and time to put Jenny down for hers, something they'd coordinated when setting this up. He looked at Brackett, who nodded. The first real trip out of the room was always the shortest. The best, like the first bite of something delicious, but it had to only be half an hour, tops.

He watched as Joanne, Chris and Jenny settled on the couch, then rolled Johnny over and parked the wheelchair at the end of the couch. He stepped back, joining Brackett and Dixie in standing silent guard, making sure Johnny wasn't overtaxing himself and, for him, that his kids didn't get too excited. Jenny and Chris's voices filled the room, both well into describing every detail from Halloween night already, complete with pantomiming.

Johnny looked up, caught his eye and smiled before he returned his focus to paying attention to the kids. And though Roy listened to his children's exploits, mostly he enjoyed that his family, including Johnny, was all together. He was aware that not everyone had what he had, and it made him even more grateful for his good fortune.


End file.
